Intransigence
by Doctor Faustus
Summary: After he awakes from his coma, Fuji is unable to remember what had caused it. Extremely dark themes, violence, sexual references, BL. Partial AU. Aesthetic angst. ::Tezuka/Fuji::
1. When nothing is all you can say

Fuji watched as people walked past his line of vision, one after another.

He had tried telling himself that it was normal for people to fall in love, and then push the other party away. In fact, it was so common that the term "commitment phobia" had been coined for it. He wondered though, whether those people who suffered from it actually felt more than they thought. To him, sometimes it felt like he thought about non-commitment to the point that it became how he felt.

The bruise on his face had been difficult to conceal that morning.

Fuji tenderly ghosted his fingers across the side of his face, and found himself resisting the urge to scream.

_Smile, Fuji._

"Fuji…?" Oishi touched Fuji on his shoulder lightly, looking concerned. He had begun on his food, only to realise that Fuji wasn't eating at all.

"Ah…gomen, I'm just a little tired. I must not have gotten enough rest last night."

It wasn't technically a lie. He didn't get enough rest the night before, simply because he hadn't slept at all. It was rather hard to sleep these past few days, when someone insisted that he paid attention to him and responded to his every chest-beating call. It really was kind of ridiculous, now that Fuji seriously considered it. The other man had been sweet enough in the bar at first, but had turned out to be a wannabe-Dom.

He wondered why he always had the luck to get all the assholes.

Fuji knew that the chances of him meeting the same loser he had gone out with a couple of times, were exactly the same as any other possible occurrence. Yet, he had the misfortune to bump into him at the ice bar, where the drunk man punched him in front of the rest of the store's patrons.

"Fuji! If you were tired, you shouldn't have agreed to meet me for lunch!" Oishi's expression was a mixture of concern and guilt, as if he had somehow forced Fuji to forgo sleep the night before.

Fuji smiled lightly at him, "Oishi, it's not your fault in the least. And besides, I couldn't think of a better lunch partner."

* * *

When he wasn't fretting, Oishi was warm, pleasant company to be around. Yet as the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence as they ate, Fuji's thoughts wandered towards their captain.

Tezuka was an interesting person to consider. There were few people who could captivate his attention as fully as the young tennis captain. He was beautiful, charismatic, intelligent and athletic. Everything that was basically a prerequisite for an idol was present in him, yet his mindset remained firmly fixed in the set ways of an adult. He strived for nothing less than perfection in his dream to reach pinnacle of tennis, yet the same proud fervour remained conspicuously absent when it came to social relationships.

Fuji had considered it many times before, and even then, the best conclusion that he could come to, was that Tezuka was simply far too self-sufficient. He was good enough and proud enough to stand alone, and it simply did not bother him whether the people around him followed his lead or left him to his own devices. There was nothing wrong in being so capable, just that it often made him appear proud and aloof to everyone else who was too daunted by his presence to make friends with him.

The younger Tezuka that stood up to the seniors and had his arm broken as a result, was simply too brilliant to merely shimmer amidst the dust. In his own way, Fuji knew that he shone as well, but the fake glimmer of his star orbited the same routes everyone else took and no one had realised that he merely reflected the light of everyone else around him.

He was a genius, but one that looked to others for inspiration. He was supposed to be of a higher thinking level than everyone else around him and yet left on his own, he revolved on the same spot because he could not provoke himself towards further improvement.

It was just too clear to him that every single step taken forward, was merely another step towards the end.

What's the point?

He felt unreal and artificial from time to time around the rest, but it was also their company, genuine and loving, that had allowed him space to breathe and get away from the dark thoughts that followed him wherever he went. It was a little like running from his own shadow. He could never escape it, but running into the light offered respite from its lengthening torment over the years.

* * *

"But Oshitari is certainly good enough to be a singles player, surely?"

"Mmm…yes, but he does make an interesting pairing with Mukahi-san too."

Fuji felt his mood sinking even as he continued to chat pleasantly with Oishi over trivialities.

As a tensai, he had the ability to organise his thoughts to work on different matters at the same time. Exacting different priorities upon different thought processes, he was able to cope with a wealth of information that rushed at him from every angle. But even then, he was powerless to block out the vague memories that insisted on pressing upon his mind despite his efforts.

He still couldn't remember what had happened then, but he could not forget it. Every time he looked at the cupboard, it gave him the shivers. He remembered screaming and crying, and sobbing so hard that he felt that his heart would give out, racking gasps of breath that shook his frail body. And no one would listen to him no matter how many times he had told them.

However, after they had sedated him with their drugs, he had remained comatose, barely awake in his self-willed slumber. He couldn't remember what had happened then either, only that he was _aware _of the people around him and that they were upset, but he refused to open his eyes for them again.

He remembered praying that he would never wake up again.

No one wanted to tell Fuji how long he had been gone, but it must have been a long period of time. Because when he awoke, he saw the grave visage of his father and his mother was absent. After much probing about the whereabouts of their mother, his sister had finally told him that their mother had passed away, and turned aside in her effort to only appear cheerful, not noticing the disbelief that overcame him.

Had it really been that long a period of time?

Fuji couldn't remember.

* * *

Oishi's concerned visage blinked at him, touching him lightly on the shoulder. Fuji was confused momentarily. Had they not been talking about the usual matches, and the schools they were coming up against? Had he lost track somehow…?

"Oishi…?"

"Fuji…is there something bothering you?"

Oishi wasn't the vice-captain for nothing, and Fuji Syuusuke was duly impressed by how he had managed to see through his cover. Apparently he had let his guard down far enough for the other boy to catch a glimpse of the sadness that lurked behind the ocean-blue eyes.

"Iya…it's nothing. I was just thinking about the matches that we'd be having soon. That's all."

Fuji Syuusuke closed his eyes and smiled lightly at his vice-captain.

When he sought to convince others of what he said, be it a subtle insinuation within words, or outright persuasion, it rarely failed to convert anyone into a believer of his honeyed lies. The irony was mildly amusing though. Everyone drank in his lies day after day, and yet no one ever heard the only true screams that tore themselves from his throat each night.

* * *

END CHAPTER 1


	2. Think of me

The night was long, and Fuji had already called his sister to inform her pleasantly that he had a project to work on and would not be returning home that night. He wasn't above lying on those occasions, though he suspected that she was beginning to doubt his word, from the way she stopped by "coincidentally" all those times to give him a lift home.

The liquid tasted bitter.

Fuji hated nights like these. He hated the way everyone locked themselves in a different room of the house, and how small and scared he felt when he sat alone in the living room and heard his own heart beating. He couldn't explain away the inexplicable fear that gripped him, being alone in that house and by himself.

There were probably people at home, but Yuuta would just ignore him no matter how many times he knocked on his door. His sister would probably respond, but despite his aching need for company, he didn't crave it that badly to the extent that he would let her worry about his well-being. If the night bore on any longer, he wasn't going to even attempt spending it alone.

Fuji tilted the glass back and drank.

* * *

_He hated having different faces at first. Then it became a habit, just to satisfy the throngs of people that were insistent on inquiring after his health. Few were fooled, and Fuji panicked the moment he heard the doctor murmur something about depression. _

_From then on, it became his practice to slide his eyes shut with the familiar, easy smile. It had hurt his cheek muscles at first, aching with a dull throb at the uncustomary exercise. His eyes spoke more than what he had been willing to reveal, and he didn't understand how to shield the raw, confused pain that lingered in the depths of blank azure eyes._

_It ate away at him, a mixture of irrational anger and an unexplained sadness that tinged the edges of every memory. Even smiling didn't help when he felt like crying so badly inside that it took a lot out of him to keep walking with his head held high. And every happy thought that he had, never remained unaccompanied by the mocking voices that called him worthless and unfit for happiness. _

_Often, it felt like a dark spiral inwards, like a staircase spinning downwards faster than he could claw his way up. He often thought about it as a black hole, sucking up everything else, and collapsing upon itself in the end. There was no other way to describe that same devastation that gnawed away at him wearily, every single time he thought that he was normal at last._

* * *

The man that just walked in wasn't an angel. At least he knew that much.

He also happened to be the type that Fuji occasionally picked up, simply because there was no other more attractive alternative. He had wavy, dark hair that just touched the tips of his collar, and a fine bone structure that formed his long, slender fingers.

Fuji was familiar with the pretty-boy type that looked deceptively innocent, even a touch bewildered as they moved awkwardly amongst the crowd. Even just sitting by themselves, they were likely to be accosted by women who fell for it, and scrambled all over themselves to cater to him, and for the actor to get exactly what he wanted.

Fuji hated those types, but was still drawn to them despite it. After drinking enough, their faces always resembled Kaito more and more. And when he was just slightly drunk, he could always pretend that it was the alcohol that robbed him of his senses, such that he didn't have to admit to himself that he deliberately chose someone who resembled him.

And then, he could carry on pretending that it was what he wanted all along.

* * *

_Things had probably started changing after he met Imano Kaito. _

_He was an undergraduate that worked part time at Ocean's Wake Café. He wore glasses and his hair was perpetually dishevelled. Kaito often complained that Fuji played with his hair like a cat and its ball of string, but Fuji did find it rather amusing to run his hand through his hair and watch it poke up in different directions. He was soft spoken and rather shy in the beginning, but when they began to know each other better, Fuji realised that Kaito had a passionate and driven personality beneath his quiet exterior._

_Kaito was Fuji's first real boyfriend, who had patiently accompanied him as he sorted through his confused thoughts. He had been there, as Fuji painfully adjusted to a new reality that had taken place ever since he had woken up. And he was also the one who had held him and let him cry, and loved him unconditionally until Fuji didn't feel quite so lost and alone._

_Fuji didn't know whether he did love him back, or whether he was even ready to be in love, but Kaito never failed to express his willingness to wait until he did. What he did know, was that being with him brought a sense of love, acceptance and inner peace, that he couldn't find anywhere else. _

* * *

Their eyes met, and Fuji knew that he wasn't wrong.

An eyebrow raised elegantly in query, had the man looking vaguely embarrassed at the women who wound themselves around him, like tightly coiled snakes around a pole. Fuji waited patiently, swirling crimson liquid around in the glass that his fingers gripped so tightly, that his knuckles began to turn white.

Often at this juncture, he had the urge to punch the daylights out of the man, to shatter his glass and slice that soft, fair cheek into bloody peels. The nearly homicidal instincts that had him writhing inside with barely repressed aggression, often gave way to the equally strong call of lust and his unquenchable thirst for affection in its most feral form.

The other man bent and whispered something into the ears of the women; something that had them looking at him dubiously, before pouting and letting him slide off his seat, to make his way to where Fuji waited patiently.

He had always been waiting after all. A few more minutes wouldn't make a difference.

* * *

_Fuji bit the inside of his cheek to avoid screaming._

_Damn, it hurt._

_He tasted the blood, but the coppery scent was everywhere, and Kaito was already drawing back to look at him in concern. He tried his best to assure him that it was alright, but the words sounded false even to his own ears. Fuji could have cried with the frustration that he was somehow unable to figure out how anybody sane and with a pain threshold could actually enjoy this. _

_Kaito drew him into a soft hug and kissed his shoulder, his lips brushing quiet murmurs of assurance and comfort as his fingers reached for his hand. In the darkness, Fuji breathed in deeply and did his best to relax. _

_Pretty soon, it didn't hurt at all._

* * *

It didn't take much persuasion for Fuji to follow the man home. Just physical touch that made him feel needed, just a few sweet words that made him feel wanted. And then he raged at himself inwardly, for his weakness and his flaw. He hurt so much inside that the slightest comfort could bring him happiness, but his pride only allowed him to submit to pain and nothing else.

Running his finger tips down the man's arms that encircled his waist, Fuji pressed open-mouthed kisses across his neck. Soft, fragile kisses that quickly yielded to the driven frenzy of his partner. Fuji allowed himself to be shoved against the wall, feeling his shoulders bruise against the eager ministrations of the other.

He liked the feeling of having someone that close to him, skin to skin and with no barrier that kept them apart. He liked the way they were honest in acquiring whatever they wanted. Fuji hated it when they tried to be sensitive of his needs, and how they tried to be gentle with him at the start. Didn't they understand that he had to be hurt in order to be forgiven?

The pain was good. The pain was purifying. It hurt sometimes, especially with the less skilful ones. Even so, he welcomed the way it made him hurt, where the intoxicating mix of brutal pain and intense pleasure smothered him, drowning him in the mindless grip of sensation. He especially liked the way each brutal thrust and pain-filled moment erased all other thoughts from his mind, leaving only emptiness and a dull, pounding ache in his heart that he couldn't identify.

* * *

_To Kaito, he was everything._

_He was lifted upon a pedestal in Kaito's opinion, where he didn't have to hear the rest of the world that insisted on bringing his mind back into the yawning abyss his memories had become. Sometimes Fuji remembered feeling so exultant, so gloriously happy that it almost seemed possible for him to reach out and touch the stars. _

_Fuji had always thought that it was just a momentary, unhealthy dependence upon a stranger that happened to walk into his life. Who had became the central focus of his being, mainly because there was no other substitute. Fuji held that belief for nearly the entire duration of their relationship. Until he left without a word, and Fuji's unsteady world began to crumble upon their foundations once more._

_It was a long, long way to fall. _

* * *

END CHAPTER 2

A/N: I suddenly realised that my paragraphing is horribly irritating. Unfortunately, I don't know how to edit it, because there doesn't seem to be a way to leave more than one spacing between lines so it will have to remain as it is. Oh, and sorry about the earlier repost, I couldn't figure out how to replace the chapter with an edited one.


	3. Glimmer of hope

Kikumaru Eiji dreamt of ballet. He was thrust into the spotlight abruptly, and forced to wing his way through a complicated dance routine that he had never seen before in his life. Desperate, he flung himself into an acrobatic sequence across the stage. The amazed audience soon warmed to him, cheering and calling out their undying support for him.

"EIJI! EIJI!"

Before he knew it, a series of soft tappings began. Mystified, he twisted around in mid leap, only to see Oishi tap-dancing across the stage. The audience gasped as one, as Oishi tap-danced lithely and vigorously.

And the tappings began to get louder and louder – until he woke up from his slumber, confused and disoriented.

Yawning loudly, Kikumaru Eiji peered blearily into the murky, moonlit darkness and recognised who it was that stood outside his bedroom window. His mind was clouded with sleep, but he retained enough presence of mind to hold the pane in place whilst the slim figure climbed into his room gracefully.

"What time is it?" Eiji yawned, even as Fuji took off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair.

"Hmm…around 2? I'm sorry for waking you up at this hour…"

Fuji bowed slightly, feeling a more than a little awkward and ashamed at his own wilfulness. It was no excuse to take advantage of the goodwill of others, as gracious as they might be over it. Even so, Eiji honestly didn't seem to mind his late night intrusion, smacking Fuji lightly across the back and calling him an idiot.

It was times like these, when Fuji felt blessed to have a friend as giving as Kikumaru Eiji, who accepted him without question. Fuji knew of the redhead's thirst for knowledge, yet Eiji was smarter and more diplomatic than what people had presumed. He knew when to badger endlessly to get the information he wanted, and he also knew when it was wise to leave things be.

"Sleep, now?"

Fuji bit back a smile at the imploring way that Eiji looked at him, his eyes large and questioning, reflecting the small quantities of light in the dark bedroom.

It was adorable and understanding at the same time, and Fuji felt himself breathe for the first time that night, relaxing into the warmth of the embrace. It always felt so real, breathing in the mixed scents of soap, mint toothpaste and the reassuring homeliness of a warm bed. He wondered why he could never let himself believe in this false sense of comfort, yet coming back like an addict for more. He could feel everything so deeply, and yet it all seemed so elusive and fragile.

Fuji couldn't stop himself from trembling, his body shaking with the effort it took for him to hold back from breaking down. The need to escape and stay all at the same time bled through him so strongly, it was like a physical pain that clenched his heart with its well-worn ache.

Eiji pretended to sleep, providing a convenient excuse for him to reach over and hold Fuji closer, his nose buried in his hair. Fuji's breathing was deep and shaky against his neck, and Eiji's heart broke a little to watch his best friend struggle to hold himself together again.

As the night drew on, a quiet, restless sleep stole over them...

And three hours later, dawn began to grace the city.

In routine, Eiji awoke to find his bed vacated, as though Fuji had never stepped foot inside his room. The light at the side of his bed glowed a warm yellow, and balancing on the mobile beside it, was a paper crane that Fuji had folded himself. Eiji knew without checking, that it would have the words 'thank you' in quick, graceful Japanese calligraphy written at the tip of its wing.

Yawning, he headed to the washroom to clean up for school. Fuji and he were best friends because they understood most of what went on between other people, but they knew each other well enough to steer clear away from the private affairs of each other. It was a comfortable relationship that had offered all the benefits of friendship, and it didn't allow them to get weary of knowing each other too well. They did, however,care very deeply about each other and unconditional love didn't need to ask too many questions.

* * *

"Fuji. Stay back after class today, I have something to discuss with you."

He had not been bothered even when the rest of the class giggled and stared. Ayaka-sensei was a beautiful teacher, who had captured the eye of much of the male student population, and won the hearts of many other female students who idolised her for the concern she showed to all of them. Fuji couldn't care less, yet he knew that the rumour that made the most rounds, concerned Ayaka-sensei and her favouritism bestowed upon the blue-eyed tensai.

His smile had faded even as he turned back to the window, where the sun hung high above the school campus, blinding out everything in white. Sometimes, he had the strangest feeling that seeing too much, made him afraid to say anything anymore. It wasn't just the daily life of mundane routines that drove him inside himself, nor the tennis challenges that allowed him to rise above himself and to shine with the brilliance that only a true match could bring out in him.

Sometimes he thought that if he closed his eyes and wished hard enough, maybe everything would go away.

"You wished to see me, Sensei?"

The entire class was emptying out at the end of the lesson, with the exception of a few students who were hurriedly packing away their things. Ayaka-sensei was frowning a little, tapping her pen thoughtfully to her brow.

"You must be wondering why I made you stay behind… Well, the truth is, your most recent essay has deviated from your usual style greatly."

Fuji noted the corner of his essay sticking out from below her books. It probably wasn't one of his best works, but he rather liked it, if only for the fact that it was a piece no teacher would pin up on the class boards. It reflected the way in which he thought, and for once, he had not stopped himself from being overly honest in his works. He had hoped though, that Ayaka-sensei would have dismissed it as a macabre one-time attempt. Upon reflection, that wish of his could have just been a little too optimistic.

_"_…_and if I were a butterfly, I would sleep my life away._

_How the brilliant colours of the butterflies would remind others of their greying world! As a butterfly, I draw others further and further away from their monochromatic shells until there is nothing between them and the precipice. Will they fall? I watch their indecision until the glass jar takes me away. _

_It brings me to a garden, where the other butterflies play. I rejoice in their childish delight as they flock to the brightly coloured flowers and their honeyed scents. Yet, inexplicably, I cannot go near them. I know the scent of the flowers by heart; I know their colours as well as I know my own. Somehow I beat my wings against nothing at all. _

_Why do I fly if I cannot leave at all?"_

Ayaka-sensei smiled at him lightly before retrieving his paper. Strangely enough, when he finally saw the marks that marked the top of his paper, they were near the highest grades that he had ever received for an essay. Surprised, Fuji began to question the rationale behind the given grade, but Ayaka-sensei moved to speak before he did, sensing his disbelief.

"I think this has to be the most honest piece of work that you've written for me so far, and to be frank, Ienjoyed the way it was insightful and depressing at the same time."

Fuji could only smile and nod politely in response to her praise.

Inside, he wondered what he had done to deserve such lavish praise. Ayaka-sensei was not only his form teacher, but his mentor as well. She was in charge of grooming those who entered Seigaku's programme for gifted students, and she had been his teacher-mentor for the past year already. For her to praise his works thus was not really uncommon, but Fuji felt a brief stirring of hope that for once someone was able to see past the veiled deception of his words and reach the meaning inside of them.

Sometimes he didn't even know what he was trying to say, sometimes he felt like he reached blindly towards a wall that hid the secrets of his mind away from him. Could anyone unlock what he really was? Extents that even he, did not completely comprehend. Where were his limits? Where was his potential?

"Fuji-kun, is there anything troubling you of late?" she asked abruptly, her large, brown eyes gazing at him in concern.

Honestly, it was becoming a little wearisome, how everyone couldn't seem to hold back from asking that question. Was it really going to help even if he told them anything? Fuji could imagine the look on their faces if he ever told them,

"_Well, yes, let's see. I awoke from a coma to realise that my mother's dead. I can't remember anything about the missing time before my accident. My family tells me that I've completely changed even though no one can point out why. My love interest abandoned me even after he swore that he'd – oops, didn't I mention that I was gay? By the way, have you heard of smiling depression? Yes? Well, I suspect that I have that as well, because somehow I can't seem to stop smiling even when it hurts so much. Oh, and I'm kind of suicidal as well. Now what?"_

"No, I'm fine, Sensei!" Fuji smiled and bowed just a little lower.

If he was going to keep pretending, he'd do it until his heart broke and he stopped breathing permanently.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like you to enter your essay for Seigaku's annual writing competition…"

* * *

Fuji turned when he heard a soft sound at the side of the class. He had thought that he was alone with his thoughts, but apparently Haruka had stayed behind as well. She caught his glance, ducking her head shyly, hiding her eyes behind the long black hair that brushed past the rims of her glasses.

He would not have paid further notice to the shy girl, if she had not spoken up at that moment.

"Ano...Fuji-kun?" she ventured, her voice quiet and uncertain.

The simplicity of her manner and the graciousness of her bearing, was something that Fuji appreciated inwardly. It was a stark contrast from the screaming, rioting chaos that the rest of the girls tended to cause. He wracked his brains for previous memories of her, considering that he barely remembered his classmates.

Fuji smiled encouragingly at her in response, mildly gratified as the slightest tinge of pink grazed her pale cheeks.

"I overheard your conversation with Ayaka-sensei," she confessed haltingly, stumbling over her words slightly in embarrassment. "I just wanted to congratulate you on your essay."

"Thank you, Haruka, but it was nothing much actually," Fuji replied pleasantly. A warning bell rang in his mind when she approached him slowly. Dismissing it as an irrational notion, he pretended to pack his bag even as he waited patiently for her to speak her mind.

"To be honest, I am rather weak in essay writing…" Haruka began. "If it would not trouble you too much, would it be possible for you to tutor me in that subject?"

Fuji hesitated for a moment before his usual smile replaced it.

"Of course, Haruka-san. It would be my honour."

* * *

END CHAPTER 3

A/N: I can't even begin to describe how much I want this fic to be an epic. Although it does feel like I'm trying to write The World's Angstiest Fanfiction, but even so, more than anything, I hope that it's good and that my readers enjoy it. To all my reviewers, thank you so much for taking the effort to review! I appreciate it very, very much. :)


	4. Rewind

"Regulars, ten rounds around the court!"

Tezuka's voice rang out at the end of practice, making Fuji turn jump slightly. He had not expected the captain to be standing just behind him as he tied his shoelaces. Usually, all it took was the low timbre of Tezuka's voice to send a pleasant jolt of sensation to his stomach. It was rustic, husky and somewhat quaint with its low undertones and careful formality.

Fuji's smile grew faintly wider as he stood up slowly, breathing in Tezuka's familiar smell of soap and freshly laundered clothes. From the side of his eye, he saw a stray tennis ball rolling past him until it stopped against his foot. Picking up his racket, Fuji flung the ball high into the air where it reached its peak and blocked out the sun from his vision. Smashing it through the air, the shot flew through the air and landed perfectly in a basket of tennis balls.

The sudden amount of force that he had put in the shot had wrenched his wrist a little, but he wanted to do it again and again. Setting his racket against the fence, Fuji took a moment to adjust his shirt. Sensing Tezuka's eyes on him, Fuji smiled a little wider as he deliberately caught him staring. Tezuka was tremendously fun to provoke, and he did enjoy watching his stoic captain flush, the slightest tinge of pink that wouldn't have been visible if not for his marble-fair complexion.

"Enjoying the view, Tezuka?" he murmured archly and watched Tezuka's eye twitch.

Still grinning, he headed off to join the rest before Tezuka could add laps.

* * *

"Fuji!"

The tensai glanced back in surprise just in time to brace himself for Eiji's weight, before it could effectively topple both of them over. A warm feeling settled in Fuji's heart despite his best friend clinging onto his back like an obstinate koala.

"Ne, are you joining us for dinner later? Momo is treating!"

From a distance ahead, Fuji could hear the junior's outraged protests, which were cheerfully drowned out again by the rest of the team. Smiling, he hoisted the redhead more carefully onto his back and continued walking.

"I don't think so…I have a tuition session with Haruka-san tonight."

Fuji said quietly, his mind intrigued at the thought of his classmate. Something seemed remarkably familiar about her, and yet different. He couldn't place his finger upon it but it nagged away at him. Belatedly, Fuji realised that Eiji had stiffened at the sound of that name, his fingers gripping Fuji's shoulders so tightly that he winced.

"What's wrong? Eiji?"

He was about to say something, but the words died in his throat before they could emerge. Eiji looked as pale as death for a split second, before the stricken expression turned into anger. The redhead's strange expression was something that he wasn't accustomed to seeing. His large eyes were narrowed fractionally and appeared to be a shade darker in the sunlight. Within seconds, the stark hostility was replaced by a forced smile.

"Nothing. Let's go."

Fuji nodded dumbly as he gazed at his friend jogging off to rejoin the team.

* * *

It was a privilege to be captain.

Tezuka leant against the green wired fence as he watched the regulars run laps. Fuji caught his eye as he went to join the rest, and the slight smile the tensai directed at him made Tezuka's heart pound a little harder.

Inwardly, he rebuked himself and thought of Oishi who lectured him ceaselessly on how he should let his emotions out more often. Somehow or other, that always had the reverse effect of making him stricter with himself and more laconic than ever.

To be honest, Tezuka wasn't entirely sure if a platonic regard was all he had for the fair-haired tensai. He remembered their first meeting at Seigaku. They had met each other just outside the tennis courts, when a particularly skilled shot from a Seigaku regular had them both fixated. They became aware of each other's intense interest in the sport, and Tezuka was painfully aware of the slight flush that tinted his cheeks pink, when the most beautiful boy he had ever seen turned and smiled at him.

Tezuka had signed up for tennis in his first year. He didn't know what he was expecting but it saddened and disappointed him a little, when he scoured the faces of other awkward freshmen of the 1st years, and could not catch a glimpse of that carefree, brilliant smile he thought about frequently enough.

The second year progressed smoothly enough, until mid-term, where Fuji joined the tennis club abruptly. He had been recommended highly by previous coaches and his qualifications as a genius were taken into consideration as well. It was the first time where someone had entered the club a year late and still managed to jump straight into the Regulars team.

Tezuka remembered hurrying to practice on that day, having received news about the tennis prodigy that their club had just accepted.

It nearly stopped his heart when he saw Fuji tackle one the third-year sempais mercilessly, every stroke vicious and accurate, causing the senior to struggle to even maintain the furious pace of their game. At the end of the game, Fuji caught sight of him. When their eyes met, Tezuka was taken apart by the piercing brutality that lingered in the depths of those azure eyes, and the absence of the brilliant smile that he had fallen in love with.

6 - 0.

Tezuka didn't play, but he lost completely on that day.

* * *

Within 2 years, all he knew about Fuji were just random facts and trivia that enticed him and led to a dead end eventually. It made him empathise strongly with how frustrated Inui must have been, when all his efforts at piecing together the complex jigsaw that made Fuji, turned up a similar blank.

Only Oishi knew of his secret fixation, but he had always been unusually perceptive of Tezuka's moods and thoughts since they were year one freshmen. Even back then, Oishi somehow knew that Tezuka had bitterly regretted his decision to drop tennis, yet his pride didn't permit him to take back his words. As such, Tezuka trusted Oishi's intuition when it came to the team, almost more than anyone else.

Oishi had come to him the day before, warning him in his usual concerned fashion that Fuji hadn't been acting himself lately.

The quiet statement had not been a first, yet neither was it uncommon enough to justify the hard clenching of his stomach. Ever since the first time it happened in their second year, the accidents occurred in increasing rarity, yet Tezuka couldn't pinpoint why he feared so badly the provincial calm before the storm.

The first time that it had happened, Tezuka could only watch in mute horror. He had stayed back late in school, and if not for the sound of the tennis balls ping-ing softly against the walls, he would not have even bothered to check the darkening tennis grounds. And there, he saw Fuji, his hair tied back in the furious downpour, hitting ball after ball against the wall.

He ran towards Fuji to call him off his training, knowing of his weak constitution and inability to sustain such intensive training without serious injury to himself. Yet, even though Fuji had caught sight of him, his aquamarine eyes faded into the black of their darkening surroundings, and he persisted on. Fuji refused to stop, seemed unable to stop, even as his hand wrapped around the bloodied grip of his racket and carried on swinging it mechanically as the ball rebounded furiously, over and over again.

Before Tezuka could wrestle the racket from his hand, Fuji's eyes blurred and closed momentarily, only to reopen to a growing darkness. His knees gave way and Tezuka grabbed hold of him before he collapsed entirely. Fuji was incapable of taking care of himself at that moment, and Tezuka helped to dry him off with a towel in the locker room, before finding him a dry outfit to change into.

Something seemed to warn him that Fuji was probably even unaware of his surroundings at the moment, and Tezuka took his hand and led him out of the school. The moment Tezuka had murmured quietly that he would take him home, Fuji stopped dead in his tracks however.

Tezuka remembered looking back, seeing the withdrawn way which Fuji stood with his head bowed, unwilling to let go of Tezuka's hand. Outside the school, lightning flashed against the darkened skies. Neither of them spoke, but Fuji's reluctance to walk spoke louder than anything that he could have said. Tezuka wondered if Fuji knew that there was nothing that he could have asked of Tezuka at that moment, which he would not have given.

"_I don't want to go home…"_

In the end, he took Fuji home with him, and laid him on his bed, tucking the comforter securely around the boy. It was then that he saw the dark bruises that etched themselves against the pale skin of Fuji's neck. He wondered how he had not noticed them before, and upon closer inspection, saw the same marks that marked Fuji's slender wrists and several areas where the skin had tore in superficial wounds.

"_Fuji, are…are things alright at home?"_

"_Hnn? Of course they are… What a strange question to ask, Tezuka!"_

He didn't know how to break the silence that welled up between them in the morning, and he kept silent. He was suddenly afraid that if he inquired too deeply into matters, Fuji would understand that he saw the marks on his skin. More than anything, he wanted to show that he cared without scaring Fuji away.

So he stayed silent and allowed Fuji to convince him that it had been a momentary urge for extra practice. He allowed himself to be talked into conviction, that nothing was wrong, and Fuji had merely been over-engrossed in his training. He made himself forget the blood that the rain couldn't wash out from the grip of Fuji's racket, the slender scars that marked his upper arms and the smell of the rain and grass that reminded him too strongly of Fuji punishing himself over and over because he couldn't stop.

The only consolation he had was that the incidents of Fuji losing utter control of his self became increasingly rare over the years. He knew that Fuji was capable of leading a double life and there was no proof that all was well with the blue-eyed tensai. Still, from his observations, Fuji's darkest moods took place in the period when he first arrived at Seigaku, and gradually improved from there.

In the meantime, he had to be more careful just in case things took a turn for the worse.

* * *

His watch read 9:00 p.m.

"Perhaps it would be wise to develop your own writing style, Haruka-san. It is only my personal opinion, but I believe that a fluid style might be just as good, if not better, than rote memorisation of a high end vocabulary, in order to do well." Fuji concluded softly as he gathered his books together.

"Aa…thank you for the advice, Fuji-san." Haruka bowed slightly as she rose.

Despite what Eiji had said, Fuji couldn't find detect anything wrong with the slender girl. When he looked at her, she seemed a little subdued, but studious and determined to do well nevertheless. Her demeanour was quiet and modest, and Fuji wrecked his brains to figure out why she was such a threat to Eiji. His best friend almost never reacted in that fashion, unless he felt threatened in some way.

"Fuji-san, if you don't mind me asking, are you on good terms with Eiji?"

_Eiji…? Since when didshe become so familiar…?_

She laughed, watching the gears in his mind spin at a furious pace.

"He told me to address him as such, said the formalities made him uncomfortable…"

Fuji's face was inscrutable as he smiled. His eyes slid shut again, nodding politely at her explanation. The hairs at the back of his neck were standing for no apparent reason.

"We're best friends."

"Really?" she murmured, her eyes downcast. "Funny, but that wasn't what he told me."

* * *

END CHAPTER FOUR

A/N: Thank you for reviewing! I'd do my best to write faster!


	5. With thorough disquiet

For the past few days, Eiji had been trying to ignore him subtly, but Fuji longed to tell him that it didn't take a prodigy to realise that something was wrong when his best friend barely spoke a word to him in class, sat in the further corner from him when the team had lunch together, and returned all conversation starters with polite smiles and quiet answers. Eiji's usual gait alternated between a feline slink and a sort of ecstatic bounding. Yet, even at practice his form was off, his usual agility disappearing amidst awkward, halting movements that let in too many balls and returned far too little.

However, Eiji was prone to keeping whatever bothered him inside, until a sudden provocation caused him to lash out and attack the nearest person. Fuji knew better than to approach Eiji directly but Haruka's words were still replaying in his mind and he needed to figure out what had transpired between Eiji and her.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Inui, are you free for a moment?"

"What's wrong?"

Inui adjusted his glasses and waited, folding his arms as he leant against the sun-warmed walls. Orange light painted the grass at their feet, transforming the staid colours of the tennis courts into an idyllic dusty golden.

"It's about Eiji…" Fuji began, before realising that Inui had turned to stare at Kikumaru through the window. Eiji was still inside the locker room, packing his bags silently. The combined weight of a slow, measured gaze and a slightly alarmed one, caught Kikumaru's attention. Fuji groaned inwardly as Eiji's smile melted away into a terse frown, as he scowled and deliberately turned his back on them.

"Does this have anything to do with why he's been avoiding you?"

"Mm…I guess you could say that. What do you think?"

"There is a 90 percent chance that he does not want you to know why. Eiji has always been temperamental, and his usual style is to confront any issues head-on. However, when it comes to personal issues, such as his pride, he would be more likely to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking over it alone. Yet, it is common for him to get frustrated in the process instead."

Fuji mulled over Inui's words for a moment. Inui was patting his pockets for a pencil as he prepared to take further notes on Fuji's reaction. Fuji wondered when Inui would realise that there was little use in judging him through the behavioural signposts of the normal. He read the wrong signs but interpreted them correctly, only to arrive at logical yet flawed conclusions. Fuji could only say that Inui's persistence was a self-perpetuating mystery in itself.

"Are you still tutoring Haruka?" Inui asked abruptly. Fuji breathed in sharply, his eyes flaring open in surprise.

"…it was just one session with her. Inui, you know her too?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid. But whoever said that women were easy to understand?" Inui questioned rhetorically, his glasses glinting dramatically against the sunlight.

Fuji tried to look appreciative, smiling encouragingly at him. Apparently that had been a cue for a dramatic pause of sorts, such that they could each take a collective breath of air in readiness. He particularly disliked asking Inui for information if he could help it. Something about that slight hint of superiority and the secretive way in which he clutched his book, irked him. It was almost as though he was just about to reveal a part of his top secret data, even though it may not actually have been very secret in the first place.

Taking in a deep breath, Inui recited composedly from his notebook,

"Imano Haruka. Third year at Seigaku…at home with her parents, and had one elder brother…"

Pieces of information went past him, and Fuji suddenly found himself alone in his head with only his thoughts for company. He couldn't hear much of what Inui was saying, and a strange paralysis ran through him. Even his thoughts were disjointed, and as they resurfaced, he could neither pinpoint their source nor their author.

_Not here, not now, not as and when you feel like showing up._

Words, meaningless words, data upon data filed upon the vast screen of his mind and he didn't care. He watched them go past and the low melodic hum of Inui's voice recited on, relentlessly and unceasingly in the dusty sunlight. Slowly, he suffocated. Fuji felt the information flood through him, and recede, waiting patiently for his mind to return to the debris of their destructive wake. His mind cried out to be heard, and he struggled to focus.

_Imano. Imano Kaito._

He breathed.

"… is literature. Her scripts were displayed in school, as part of the decorations before the summer festivals - "

"Enough."

Inui glanced up startled.

The look on the prodigy's face was bleak, before he turned away abruptly.

Fuji walked away, freeing his mind as he strolled on without a sense of destination. Eventually finding himself back in a classroom, he slid onto the window's ledge, where he had an uninhibited view of the skies and city. The skies above were a blend of burnt sienna and a deep blue. It took his breath away, every single sunset viewed above the tops of trees stretching into the horizon, interspersed between the shorter buildings and roads. The sense of peace he attained from watching the dying light play across the school grounds was unparalleled.

The very scent of the air reminded him of too many yesterdays as the winds sifted through his memories, murmuring through his mind. His head hurt and he didn't want to think, but the thoughts flooded through his mind in a barrage of sights, smells and sounds. Alone with his thoughts, Fuji felt the weight of his façade crumble despite his efforts. The pain raged inside, and Fuji bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, just enough to keep the tears away from his eyes.

Kaito's betrayal was the worst possible reminder of the past he had hoped to leave behind.

There had been no one when he most needed help, and he had never let Kaito see him when he was at his worst. He couldn't ask for help from anyone, his voice failed him because he wasn't sure if he could stop himself from begging, and the effort of acting normal wore him down day after day. His family kept inquiring after him, casting worried glances at him when they thought that he wasn't looking. Their concern drove him further into himself, because he didn't want to burden them further. And when everyone returned to their own lives gradually, shifting back into their usual routines, it had hurt, but being unnoticed gave him more space to breathe and recover, without constructing and re-mending the fortresses that cracked with its daily strain.

In his mind, Kaito remained beautiful. Fuji could believe in Kaito's tender simplicity, trust that things could get better, would get better. But Fuji knew better than to persuade himself that it was love. He wondered about the concept, thought about it, but he couldn't believe that such an ideal could be reality. All he had known was the gentle happiness the distractions brought to him, tearing his mind from his grief, and he delighted in feeling loved and wanted more desperately than ever before, just for who he was.

Things were wonderful on the surface, and Fuji relied on that to keep the darkness at bay. But inside he remained torn between an inexplicable grief and apathy, and he didn't want Kaito to understand that.

Kaito allowed him to feelhappiness that he didn't feel worthy of and a love that he couldn't reciprocate. But Fuji's fear reached far deeper and the closer they became, and the longer they stayed together, the more Fuji panicked inside of him. He became increasingly claustrophobic, and the more he tried not to think about it, the more it came to mind. Everything, from their linked hands to their physical proximity sent jolts of fear into his heart, which was ridiculous because he trusted Kaito more than he trusted anyone else.

Fuji had been careful not to let Kaito suspect that his heart rebelled beneath his image of contented docility. He had continued to whisper endearments into his ear, had continued to laugh and talk to him, but inside everything felt so wrong and he didn't know how to explain it. He needed to break away; he needed Kaito to stay. His body acted in a fashion opposite to what his mind screamed, and he was torn between the two yet desperate enough to keep the façade intact.

In the end, he hadn't even been the one to leave.

* * *

"It's so warm nyah…" Eiji complained plaintively as he stepped out into the sunlight.

Inui counted the seconds in his head before the redhead's restraint broke.

"You two looked pretty serious out there. What's up?" Eiji began casually.

Inui had to fight hard not to smirk. If it was any indicator, the earlier incident had to be the first time where the tensai had actually lost his composure. It wasn't just the starkness of his tone that had caught his attention, but the spooked expression in Fuji's unshielded eyes as well, providing excellent material.

Inui smiled slightly.

"He was pretty worried about why you weren't talking to him. Hmm…and he asked me about Haruka as well. There must be something pretty serious involving this girl, considering that you asked me about her just the other day, and now Fuji."

"Haruka? How does he – I don't get it. Why would he ask about her all of a sudden?" Eiji queried, looking slightly worried as he walked faster to keep pace with Inui's longer strides.

Inui shrugged. "From the looks of his face, things aren't about to turn pleasant for the poor girl though. Fuji looked ready to torment her until she provided some answers."

"What?"

Inui bent down to tie his shoelaces, considering his next words before he spoke.

"I saw him heading back towards school. If you have something to say to him, I suggest you do it before he catches up to her."

* * *

Eiji walked hurriedly through the school building, racking his brains for places which Fuji might be. The rooftop would have been his best guess, but a quick check had already disposed of that idea. A growing dismay arose in him when he realised that he was never really sure where Fuji went, whenever the urge to be alone took him. What kind of friend was he?

Each empty room he entered left him feeling guiltier and a little bit angry. He didn't realise that Fuji would be so upset over the whole issue, but didn't he have the right to have some time to himself to think? He wasn't really avoiding Fuji after all, just needed to have some space between them in order to think clearly for once.

Sighing, Eiji walked down the darkened corridors, peering half-heartedly into all the classrooms, only to note the absence of his friend, and different personalities of each classroom painted by the vanishing light outside the windows. Reluctantly he forced himself on, quelling the insistent voice inside of him that Fuji had already gone home.

Sighing silently, he poked his head into yet another classroom and was about to leave, before his head snapped around, catching movement from the corner of his eye.

He wasn't sure when he had realised that he was in love with his best friend, but watching Fuji sit at the window's ledge, his eyes closed as he tilted his head back and felt the wind against his face, Eiji was filled with a sense of protectiveness. Something about the pain and solitude in the fragile frame of his best friend, made him want to cry each time Fuji ended up at his house, seeking comfort mutely in his arms and still failing to see how much Eiji loved him and would have done anything to make him better.

But even then, Fuji was still smiling.

Eiji didn't know what to say, what to do, what to feel even when he saw the faint, tremulous smile tugging on the lips of the fair boy who leant perilously close to the edge and didn't seem to care.

* * *

Overhead, the skies smoothened into a dusty red and inky black.

The pain threatened to overwhelm him if he didn't smile. He smiled even more in those days. Sometimes he had smiled so much that it made his jaws ached. His smile became prettier and sweeter over the years, even as he felt himself grow colder. Word and thoughts and ideas and feelings ran through his mind consistently and he could all but block them out, drowning their calling voices in a pool of silence.

Nothing was as it should have been; it was almost as if life was becoming a dream that he couldn't wake up from. Fuji had the strangest feeling of being displaced somehow, of sensation not belonging to the body that received it, of thought separate from the mind that housed it for so long. Everything that was happening took place too quickly and too slowly at the same time.

The wind was lifting, and Fuji leant his head back, exposing his neck to the settling chill of the incoming night. The classroom was lit in the deep blueness of twilight, and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall punctuated his disjointed thoughts with its rhythm.

Imano Haruka.

Fuji didn't know what he was supposed to feel. There was no anger, no surprise. Mostly, all he felt was a vague sense of inevitability, and irritation that he had not seen the link earlier. The most important question was "why". But what she had gained from attempting to draw closer to him remained a mystery. He didn't even know why she tried to alienate him from Eiji, but only sheer obtuseness could have kept her from realising that her efforts were clumsy and obvious.

The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that Haruka was unjustified in her actions. A burning anger rose up in him, but was quelled in the same breath. It was her brother's choice to leave. Was she intending to flaunt his pain further?

Fuji took in a shuddering breath as he opened his eyes and looked at the busy night life of the city that resided below. The cold night breeze carried the sound of distant traffic and the smell of grass, tennis courts and an indescribable feeling of loneliness. Fuji felt like crying as he closed his eyes to the twinkling, glistening world of neon lights below him.

A light tapping on the door was heard. Even as Fuji registered the sounds, his team mate entered quietly, his head bowed as he turned to shut the doors behind him. His gait remained stilted and forced, and Fuji thought of marionettes with each confident step that Eiji took.

Then, Fuji's breath had caught at the look on Eiji's face.

The glossy red of his hair gleamed wetly from the dim lights in the distance, and his skin was unnaturally pale. His eyes were dark with uncertainty and Fuji realised that his best friend was standing so still that the fine tremors that raced through him could be seen. Fuji saw shame, fear and a hovering uncertainty, reflected in the dark pools of Eiji's eyes, and had to resist the urge to hug his best friend and tell him that it was alright.

Swinging his legs carefully off the ledge, he sat with his back to the expanse of open space behind him, and waited patiently for Eiji to speak.

The silence stretched painfully for seconds, and the ticking of the clock sounded abnormally loud and harsh in the classroom. Eiji stood before him, his head still bowed, occasionally sneaking glances at Fuji, as if reassuring himself that Fuji was still there and was not a figment of his imagination.

"I…"

His repeated attempts to speak were choked off beyond the second syllable or third, and Fuji found himself sympathetic with his best friend's efforts to force the words out. Sympathy and curiosity ran through him at the same moment. Forcing his thoughts back, Fuji placed his hand on Eiji's shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly even as Eiji flinched and jerked away as though burnt.

Their eyes met before Eiji gave up on talking. Sliding a hand around Fuji's neck, Eiji's fingers brushed the fine, brown strands of his hair as he pulled Fuji closer in a chaste kiss.

"I'm in love with you."

* * *

END CHAPTER FIVE

A/N: Is this amount of detail fine? Or should I cut it short and finish the story earlier? Feedback is much appreciated! And I sincerely apologise for taking so long with this... Life is tedious right now, and there's too much to do with too little time. :(


	6. A different shade of black

Fuji was unable to think for a moment. His heartbeat had raced abruptly when Eiji had moved so close to him that only a hand's width separated them. He remembered returning to Eiji, going back to the security he provided, when he was at his loneliest and depressed after nights of losing himself in the arms of strangers. Guilt rebounded upon him when he realised that Eiji had taken his need for a different kind altogether.

By the time he had composed himself, Eiji had moved away slightly, his head bowed as he pressed the knuckles of his hand painfully against his lips. But tears were already spilling from the sides of his tightly shut eyes, and Eiji looked so broken that Fuji wanted desperately to hold him and comfort him, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't have hurt him further.

"Eiji, I…please don't cry, I'm not worth it, please don't…"

Fuji scarcely realised that he was murmuring incoherently as he tried to draw Eiji into a hug and attempted to soothe away the tears that kept falling.

"Why? Why don't you like me?" Eiji asked quietly, looking for a flaw of any kind that would excuse his rejection; something, anything that he could change. Fuji looked at his friend, and inside he couldn't understand why a part of him remained so empty. His best friend was crying because Fuji could not accept him, yet the receding panic he had felt was steadily replaced by a stark numbness.

Receiving no response, Eiji glanced up into Fuji's eyes, and for the first time in all the years that he had known him, the depths of cerulean eyes showed the yawning gulf that lay between them. Fuji was akin to the morning star whose light danced across the calm oceans. The horizon was a mirage; skies and sea would never meet.

In his eyes, Eiji saw the skies and he realised how much he hated him for it.

"I am sorry…please believe me, you're my best friend and I love you but…"

"I know…" Eiji said bitterly through a harsh bark of laughter, "You don't like people like _me, _do you?"

Fuji's breath caught in his throat.

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen the bruises, and I'm not stupid. You've always preferred the other type then? All bruises and pain and abuse? You like that?"

_You can't love anyone, can you, aniki?_

"You don't mean that," Fuji breathed shakily, trying to keep his voice steady and hearing it break slightly all the same.

"I do," Eiji choked slightly, his hands reaching out and entwining in Fuji's hair. With a swift motion, he yanked Fuji closer to him, causing him to whimper at the sudden pain. All traces of warmth and vulnerability were gone from his slight form, and beneath his outer exterior of calm, Eiji was seething with rage.

"Eiji, stop. Please, just stop. I know this isn't you," Fuji choked slightly as Eiji's hand slid securely around his neck and pressed against his beating pulse.

"Just say the word, _Fujiko_, tell me how you want to be hurt."

Tears were slowly sliding down from the corners of Eiji's eyes, but to Fuji's horror, it was almost as though he never realised it. They reflected nothing but a hollow indifference to pain, even as hurt clipped the edges of each word he spoke, his fingers digging painfully into Fuji's shoulder blades. In the slender, grimly steadfast figure that waited patiently for an answer, Fuji found no hint of the best friend that he had known.

"I don't," Fuji began painfully. He couldn't breathe anymore. The words stuck in his throat, and there was nothing more he wanted, then to break down and beg Eiji to stop whatever sick game he was playing. Eiji's fingernails were beginning to cut into his skin, and Fuji recoiled inside, when he realised how badly he needed the pain. How he needed it to keep thinking, to breathe and feel, even if it was only to be a shadow of himself. But he loved Eiji. He had to protect his best friend against himself. No one else had to know about his flaw. No one else had to be hurt because of him.

_Hurt me._

"I don't want to be hurt, especially not by my best frie – "

"Don't. Just tell me."

"I'm not lying, Eiji…are you even listening to yourself?"

"Why won't you say it? Tell me how you want to be hurt, and I'd do it. Fuji, whatever it takes to make you happy, more than anyone, I swear I will do it for you... But you know what kills me?"

Fuji shook his head slightly, unable to trust himself to speak.

"You let such filth touch you, but you push me away. You let them hurt you in every way they like, and toss you away after. You can call a different name every single night, but you return to me in the end…but _I_ am still not good enough for you."

"That's…not true," he breathed, his voice small and distant.

Eiji laughed slightly, letting go of Fuji at last.

"Still so fucking perfect, aren't you?" Eiji retorted sarcastically. "Perfect Fuji doesn't throw himself at nameless guys, doesn't beg them to screw him silly, and doesn't care about anyone except his beloved younger brother. Maybe someone should warn Yuuta about your tendencies – "

"…you shouldn't talk so much about what you don't understand," Fuji said, sounding more resigned than angry.

"I can't stand you sometimes, Fuji. What makes you think you're so special? Why do you keep staying away from the rest of us, why do you keep acting like we're beneath you? We are friends after all, right?"

_Right?_

"I thought we were." Fuji said quietly at last. Turning, he walked out of the classroom, away from the lengthening shadows and the violent amethyst lined skies.

* * *

Night had almost fallen as he walked towards the gate.

His tennis bag had been left in the clubroom, but he figured Tezuka would have locked up by then. Bracing himself against the chilly breeze, Fuji squared his shoulders and kept on walking. Inside he felt so tired, wanting nothing better than to close his eyes and let sleep overcome him. Somehow, everything around him was spinning. Fuji stared at the pavement as he walked, refusing to blink until his eyes watered. The tiles were beginning to shake, and everything was swimming in and out of his vision.

"Fuji."

His head snapped up so fast, his vision blurred and he nearly missed his step. Tezuka stood up in alarm even as Fuji recovered himself promptly, and hurried towards him.

"Tezuka, were you waiting for me?" he asked hopefully, smiling slightly.

"What's wrong?"

Never one for small talk, Fuji mused as he debated what to say. The look in Tezuka's eyes was so serious, it seemed wrong to dismiss his concern with a flippant remark. Glancing behind at the benches where Tezuka had previously occupied, he saw his tennis bag. Fuji had managed to hold his emotions back for the entirety of the day, despite everything that had happened. Yet, somehow, looking at their tennis bags lying side by side, and seeing Tezuka's stoic look of gruff concern, absurdly, Fuji felt like crying.

"It's nothing...I guess I just… I…forgot my stuff, and I…well, thank you."

Tezuka regarded him seriously for a moment. The look on his face was indescribable, and Fuji laughed suddenly. Reaching over, he pulled Tezuka into a hug, feeling the warmth of his arms and the reassuring quality of his presence overwhelming him. Tezuka smelt like freshly laundered linen and a shampoo that Fuji always liked. Breathing in deeply, Fuji blinked the tears back hurriedly as he wrapped his arms around Tezuka tightly.

Tezuka was safe. Tezuka was sane and he was the strongest person Fuji knew. The nightmares were recurring every night, and there were monsters beyond the cracks that were starting to appear in his life. More than anything, Fuji wished to believe that Tezuka could protect him. But earlier than he would have liked, Tezuka was pulling away, glancing down awkwardly at Fuji to make sure that he was not crying.

Fuji took in a deep breath, and forced himself to let go.

"Let's go home."

* * *

It had been a long time since Tezuka and he had spent time together. There were too many competitions that came up, and too many extra training practices held, such that the tennis team saw each other almost on a daily basis. Even so, it was nice to be out with him again, even though it was only because Tezuka insisted on walking him home. Fuji smiled slightly; he rather liked Tezuka's over-protective instinct, despite of all his protests.

The night air was tinged with a familiar smoky scent that Fuji had come to associate with small street fairs. His eyes lighting up, Fuji tilted his head and saw the patiently resigned look in Tezuka's eyes. Smiling, he made his way to the fair ahead, trusting that Tezuka would follow. The smells of assorted foods, from breaded cutlets to the light patties of mashed potato and seafood, blended in with the smoky scent of burning, spitting fat. The merriment of the fair was largely due to the game stalls where children rushed excitedly to and fro, shouting and laughing.

They browsed separately, sometimes wandering over to where the other was, curious as to what had caught his fancy. Overhead, one of the street lights flickered on and off, casting an irregular light upon the linen where a stall's collection of junk was placed.

Tezuka found it mildly amusing how Fuji unconsciously made pleased humming sounds as he picked up each item curiously, inspecting it to see what it was, and how it functioned. It had been a long time since he had seen the tensai looking contented. These few days, he had noticed a slight furrow in Fuji's brow, a tightness in his expression that his usual smile couldn't quite smooth over. Tezuka was pretty sure that Fuji was close to tears when he had reached over to hug him earlier. Yet the wetness in his eyes that he had glimpsed, vanished in an instant as Fuji smiled and retreated further into himself again.

He promised himself quietly, that by the weekend, he would let Fuji know of how he felt towards him. Things had been going on for too long, and he was worried sick at the thought of how Fuji simply kept pushing himself on, almost as if he was curious how far he could go before he broke. Tezuka wanted to be there for him if he did, and if he could help it, he wouldn't ever let it get that far.

Beside him, Fuji had stilled suddenly. In his hands, he cradled a small yellow and white spinning top. It was old and the plastic had several scratched on it, visible to Tezuka even at a distance.

"_Go in, Syuusuke. Okaasan will let you out soon."_

"_Why?"_

"_Be a good boy. Do as I say. Go."_

Fuji's eyes went wide as a sudden memory came back to him. He was had been in his room, sitting on the polished wooden floor and watching his top spin gracefully. He had devised a way for it to leap suddenly into the air and soar through a small arc, before landing. However, it would take a little longer before it could be perfected. His mother's voice echoed in his mind in short snippets of speech that he never remembered before.

Too late, he sought the memory with little success, only succeeding in frustrating himself when he came up with nothing. He shivered abruptly; feeling scared and angry at the same time for not knowing what it was that plagued him.

"I think I'd buy this, how much is it?" Fuji asked at last.

Beside him, Tezuka waited for him and said nothing, sensing Fuji's need to be alone with his thoughts at the moment. Night had fallen completely, and the sound of the cicadas was unexpectedly lonely in the silence that had befallen them as they walked home.

* * *

Fuji had barely eaten at dinner, just enough to avoid the inevitable questions from Yuuta and his father. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he undressed and lay down on his bed, his eyes large and unblinking at the rectangular shadows and light that came from outside and reflected upon his ceiling. Too many things that had happened at once. The pounding in his head was harsh and unforgiving, and he was still shivering but it was alright because no one was around to see him. Fuji closed his eyes and tried not to make a sound.

Sleep crawled upon him slowly and mercilessly, bringing with it the monsters his mind kept at bay.

* * *

His heart beat wildly as he felt the beads of sweat running down the side of his face. His sense of hearing seemed abnormally acute as he heard the soft ticking of the clock in the distance, and the harsh breathing that he recognised as his own. Clenching his fists in the soft fabric of the white linen sheets, Fuji breathed in deeply once, twice, and let them go.

It was then he heard the soft creak of the wooden boards.

The sound came from the top right corner of his room, and Fuji found himself frightened till the point that he felt tears coming into his eyes. His heart rate accelerated and he felt a rush of blood to his head such that he momentarily felt dizzy. He didn't want to turn and look, but the sound was exactly the one he heard so many times over, when someone had stepped on the spot just before the cupboard.

He wasn't going to look.

He wasn't going to look.

He wasn't going to –

"Aniki."

Fuji bolted upright in bed.

His brother was watching him with wide, concerned eyes. Yuuta was standing at the side of his bed, looking a little scared. Fuji realised that it was rare that his brother had actually heard his strangled sounds and came to check up on him. Usually his nightmares wound up with him crying himself awake, his hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails left bloodied crescents.

He didn't realise that tear tracks remained on his face, until Yuuta reached over and gently slid his fingers over his face, wiping his tears away.

"Aa…gomen, Yuuta. I didn't mean to wake you up." Fuji composed himself with difficulty, still staring down at the crumpled bedsheets, pressing his hands tightly together in a bid to stop them from shaking.

"Don't be silly. I am here any time you need me…"

Yuuta sounded strangely gentle and comforting, and Fuji nearly cried with the comfort that the simple words brought. He indulged himself in the familiar smell, the comfort and reassurance of familiar ground. It almost felt like Yuuta was the elder one, and not him.

"Why are you alone? Where's okaasan...?"

The soft, chilling tones of his brother sent a shiver down Fuji's spine. The eyes of his brother were fathomless yet knowing, and they scared him inexplicably. It was the wresting of control away from him, a superior knowledge of information that he could never breach.

"Yuuta…?"

His eyes shot open and he found himself alone in his room once more. Fuji opened his eyes for the third time that night. And heard nothing more than the clock on his bedside table, and saw nothing but the moonlit darkness of his room.

He was utterly, desolately alone.

Fuji cried.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: I really should re-title this fic as "Fuji has a really bad life" huh.Oh, and a big thank you to all who reviewed, your encouragement helps me to keep on writing!


	7. A Place to Drown In

Fall was around the corner. He could smell it in the crispness of the air and the first few leaves that were starting to bleed crimson. Fuji couldn't sleep and had been the first to arrive at school, sitting in the darkness in front of the school gates and waiting for them to open.

He wasn't very surprised by the icy silence that greeted him when Eiji walked into class, and the deliberate manner in which Eiji had turned away from him. The chill had extended from him, to the awkward good cheer of his team-mates. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oishi lingering at the backdoor of the class, patiently listening to Eiji who rambled away at him. Even as he turned to smile at him, Fuji felt his heart constrict a little, when Oishi flushed and looked away quickly, before appearing to chasten Eiji for whatever he was saying.

It was then he realised the inevitability of his team-mates' involvement. Already, he knew Eiji well enough to understand that if they attempted to hear Fuji's side of the story, it would be counted as a betrayal. He was fine by himself, but Eiji only flourished when the spotlight was on him, when his acrobatic tennis drew the loudest gasps of admiration. It was simply the way he was. But at the moment, he could hardly care less as he huddled over the table, burying his face in his arms and trying to ignore the cold that steadily seeped in through the open windows.

As more of his classmates filed into the room, he caught snatches of their scandalised conversation unwillingly. When he forced himself to look up from his arms, he saw the gazes of his classmates, many of which held shock, indignation and more than a little disdain.

Hurrying out of the class, he followed the crowd which was beginning to gather in the main atrium. The stunned silence that his arrival brought was beginning to unnerve him. He walked closer to the bulletin boards and beheld a myriad of photographs.

Clear, sharp photographs that captured him in every possible angle and light, pasted in neat rows. Fuji with his arms around strange men, his neck bruised by a hard kiss as he was roughly pushed against a pillar, lurid hotels known for the cheap debauchery that went on inside. Photograph after photograph showed at least 3 different men that Fuji had been with, candid shots that were taken whilst they were too busy to notice.

Fuji was suddenly acutely conscious of the stares of his schoolmates, waiting to see what his reaction would be. He refused to let them have the satisfaction of watching him cry. His pride wouldn't allow that. Also, he refused to ask them directly who had perpetrated the deed, convinced that no one would have answered.

Under the scrutiny of all the people, who were starting to chatter and gossip amongst themselves, Fuji slowly began to remove every single of the photographs. Only a bleak numbness remained, chilling him to the bone, as the sound of staples methodically ripped out of the paper magnified itself in his mind.

Towards the bottom of the rows, his fingers paused at a photograph.

In it, he slept peacefully in a familiar bed. The bedside lamp was glowing a warm yellow, casting enough light for the photograph to be taken. There was only one person who could have taken that photograph, and the knowledge of it hurt him deeper than any of the other lurid shots that bleated his failures to the world.

_Why, Eiji? _

* * *

"The whole school knows about the photographs by now. Why did you do it?"

The quarrel was turning ugly as the two ex-best friends faced each other on the roof. The moment the bell had rung for lunch, Fuji had requested Eiji to stay and talk for a moment, and had proceeded to drag him to the rooftop unceremoniously when Eiji refused. The cold cruelty of the school tensai was legendary throughout the school, and despite the curious looks and loud gossip that had followed the pair, none had followed them to the deserted place, especially since it had just started to drizzle.

Something had flickered in Eiji's face at that moment. Fuji wasn't too sure what he had seen, but it had almost been…resignation? If Eiji had been expecting the photographs to be placed up, then it had to have been someone else. Fuji felt his heart light in anticipation of that prospect, sheer relief coursing through his veins, when he realised the implications of what he thought. It would be madness to accuse his best friend of such an action when their quarrel had been only a day ago.

And then, Eiji stunned him for the second time in a day.

"Because I hate you Fujiko," Eiji sneered quietly, lightly turning Fuji's nickname in his mouth until it sounded almost like a curse.

"It wasn't you. You wouldn't have – "

Eiji laughed slightly.

"Why not? Who else could it have been? You haven't exactly been broadcasting your nightly activities to the school, or were you even more of a slut than I imagined?"

Crimson drops splattered against the ground wetly.

Eiji's mouth had blood dripping from it, his gum split against his teeth due to the punch. The sticky wet fluid was still trailing down the side of his mouth as he stared at Fuji in disbelief. The tensai's eyes were wide open, a cold, blazing blue as he stared at him. In the cloudless depths of azure orbs, Eiji saw himself reflected and felt an unexpected chill seize him, as all thoughts fled from his mind.

Even as the tensai turned and walked away, his footsteps lightly echoing on the rough concrete, Eiji could only stare after him, unheeding of the blood continued to drip onto his shirt, leaving behind a sticky sensation on his chest. Ahead of him, the fragile slimness of his friend as he walked back towards the staircase, his white shirt billowing in the wind, contrasted against the stormy clouds above.

The image planted thoughts of an _accidental_ murder in his mind.

Eiji shivered again, despite himself.

* * *

He didn't bother to attend tennis practice, returning home instead. His father had looked worried when he had informed him quietly that he was merely tired and wished to sleep till the next morning. Yumiko seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but refrained eventually, her eyes reflecting her worry.

The bed was too large and too cold. The floor was at least panelled in wood, which warmed to the touch and felt more _real _somehow. His head was spinning and his heart was longing to cry. He sank to the floor beside his bed in a corner, holding his knees tightly to him as he rocked himself and waited for the pain to pass.

There were nights where he felt himself reverting back into the nameless void of anger and shame. It reminded him of his past, where unbearable humiliation tore him from the inside and drove him into further depravity until the excess of debauchery numbed his mind to further anguish. He had sought refuge in the arms of strangers, where alcohol drowned out faces, voices, memories, leaving only exquisite physical torment that liberated him from the cesspool his mind's voices had become. If it hurt enough outside, the pain inside could be forgotten.

Before that, he had hurt himself and always, it hadn't been enough. It was never enough. The scars could not be seen even if he wore his tennis jersey. He had taken care of that. The scars marked his shoulders, the higher parts of his arm, legs and even torso. In the darkness, he had crouched in a corner of a securely locked bathroom. Silently, desperately grieving, his knife dug into his skin and raked its crimson furrows, but the pain never seemed enough to take him away.

On those nights, back where he clung onto his belief that he could survive it on his own, nothing was worse than cleaning up the sticky trails of blood that sunk in between the tiles of the bathroom floor, turning on the tap at full blast until the blackening blood washed away to its crimson redness and then to nothing. He often wished that pain could be washed away, just like that as well.

_I can't cry. I won't be able to come back if I do._

The tears never came and his heart hurt even worse with the effort of keeping everything inside of him. He couldn't cry. It hurt far too much for tears to be able to wash away. It was a deep, unsettled ache that threatened to break him completely. Crying meant the defeat of matter over mind, of his body over his heart, and Fuji would not accept defeat. Nor the possibility that the first few tears which would trickle down his face, could lead to a complete breaking down. An irrational fear bucked in him every single time he found himself on the verge of tears, that his darkest fears unleashed by his caving in would swallow him whole.

Fuji closed his eyes tighter, his nails digging into his skin as he hugged his legs to him. He hadn't mutilated himself that badly since a year ago and he wasn't going to start again. It hurt, sometimes the memories drenched him in so much pain, pain repressed so deeply inside of him that only his nightmares could bring them out. Often he awoke screaming, crying, but no one ever heard him.

Yet there was the past, and then there was the present.

He felt himself slipping further into depression with each step, and even small tasks were beginning to seem daunting to him. He had been the acknowledged genius who had won countless awards as a child, the academic prodigy who had his works displayed proudly at every festival.

Yet, all the roles that he had once played were an entire lifetime ago.

Now, he dreaded going to school in the morning, and hated tennis sessions even more. Every task was as terrifying, despite his mind's rational insistence that nothing could possibly happen. Stronger than anything else, an irrational desire to stay locked inside himself had bubbled up.

It was a simple wish that could be easily granted with enough sleeping pills and water.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: Spoiler Alert! Wait...can one actually spoil one's own story?

The fear that one is helpless even when it comes to the most mundane of tasks, is one part of depression that is often missed out in fanfiction. In this strange alternate-universe, Fuji has been grappling with depression ever since he awoke from his self-imposed coma. Depression is a tedious, wearying process by which the spirit is methodically broken down and nothing about this sickness is pleasant. Actual events in the storyline have only occured sparsely thus far, yet 7 chapters have already been written. The tediousness of this entire story is meant to reflect this illness. To all who took the time to read this story, I am sorry if you liked the current pace, as those who reviewed had preferred, but I have decided to break away from this and things will be speeded up henceforth until the climax at the end chapter. This is the last "slow" chapter and can be seen as a prologue of the ending.

And a big thank you to all for reviewing! I am shiny and happy when you do so!


	8. In Place of My Heart

The skies were especially beautiful at night.

He didn't really understand why he couldn't sleep even when he was clearly exhausted mentally and physically from all the tennis training that they had to do, especially with the tournaments coming up. Even as the skies lightened into morning blue, he remained awake and anxious as the idea of school drew inevitably closer and sleep persisted in evading him. In an effort to take his mind off the darker thoughts, he fiddled with his camera and planned to capture life as the world spun the dark night to threads of golden dawn.

What made people strive so hard, what made their lives worth living? His camera caught the sequence of time's passage as he sat at his window, capturing the harried women who rushed home to the chores left undone at home in stark black and white, the scratched metal of the trucks that sleepily departed at 4 am in the morning, the homeless who couldn't have been older than he was, all laughing, crying and dying by the sidewalks of society. He couldn't see any purpose in what they did, he couldn't find the entertainment and meaning in their lives, and he didn't want to be a part of this society he abhorred.

It was with these thoughts that he made his way slowly to school, feeling the weight of his heart settle with its familiar ache into his chest. He had to force himself to smile, stretching it to shake the false geniality of it into a gentle, unassuming expression. Aside from the incident with the photographs, nothing much had happened but his mood still remained so inexplicably low that Fuji felt as though he was perpetually on the brink of tears. He was sad for no reason at all, and his head hurt with the effort of forcing the tears inwards.

_If you were dead, everything could be so much better. _

_No one could save you then. _

_You could stop hoping._

If he could concentrate on avoiding the topic of Eiji and his own humiliation, he wouldn't cry today. If he could avoid seeing the look in Tezuka's eyes, perhaps he wouldn't break down just yet. He could handle anything but the quiet disappointment from the bespectacled boy who could casually break his heart in sheer oblivion.

Nearing the school gates, his heart sank when he realised that Oishi was heading in his direction. He had avoided all of his team mates when he had skipped tennis the day before. Warily, he paused in his steps and braced himself for the worst.

"Fuji, are you alright?" Oishi asked in concern. "I heard about what happened… I can't believe the nerve of whoever that put them up!"

"I'm okay," Fuji offered him a placating smile and nothing else. He could see the hesitation lining Oishi's jaw, the tentative question that burned at the tip of his tongue and waited to fall and splinter against the ground. He refused to make it easier for him and simply tell him.

"Ano…but did you really…I mean, was it…was it really……ah, I'm sorry!" Oishi fumbled awkwardly.

"I didn't mean to pry! Please ignore what I just said! Are you angry with me? Fuji… Fuji?"

Oishi gave up halfway and stuttered through the rest of his apology in embarrassment, but Fuji had already walked away. Fuji was furious at the idea of Oishi merely approaching him out of sheer curiosity. Surely Oishi couldn't have mistaken Eiji's bedroom as anything else, not after having been there countless times after their special doubles training. The idea that even the team's vice-captain who took care of everyone protectively, had given up on him and was simply waiting to hear his confession of how he had fallen, brought an unexpectedly bitter taste to his mouth.

_Why wouldn't you protect me as well?_

He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, pretending to be absorbed in avoiding the large puddles that welled up in the cracks of the ground after last night's rain. Oishi had attempted to follow after him as he walked away, but he soon lost him in the crowds.

* * *

The teachers were at a complete loss for what to do. The evidence had been there for everyone to see, but the staffroom had been in a completely different wing from the atrium where the photos had been. It had been too early for any teachers to have seen the photographs for themselves, yet talk had spread through the school like wildfire. He had managed to convince their form teacher that it had been exaggerated; a simple prank carried too far, and had further persuaded her not to investigate into its source. His pride wouldn't allow him to turn to others, and he didn't want any of their help, sympathy or ridicule even as they mused about sending him for therapy.

_Who would come to your side? _

He wasn't accustomed to being unpopular. Excessive attention had been the price for being known as a genius in school, and he was never short for friends, due to his brains and willingness to provide aid when sought for. As he grew older, the fragile, doll-like delicacy of his body grew into a lean slender frame. His unusual eyes attracted a fair amount of attention as well, and there were always admirers that lingered in his vicinity, or at least, strangers that could be turned into friends with his charm.

But Eiji had usurped the role of the victim and the betrayed, and there was little else but unfriendliness in the tautness of his shoulders when he caught a glimpse of Fuji. He had scarcely been restrained in his preferences, and the entire class knew that to befriend Fuji at this critical moment, would gain them the hatred and deliberate vengeance from the redhead.

Who would come to the side of one who chose not to reveal his side of the story? No one would believe in someone who lay too quietly to elicit an outright declaration of war, someone who still remained passively dormant and somehow threatening with his affable docility and disarming smile.

_17 minutes and 36 seconds before the lesson ends._

Ayaka-sensei clapped her hands a couple of times, calling for them to arrange themselves into small discussion groups for the upcoming debate.

Fuji's heart sank inwardly. He had counted on being with Eiji so frequently in the past year, that to do anything else would signal that something was wrong to the sharp-eyed teacher. He could have asked another group to take him in. But a quick glance around the room revealed the way his classmates avoided his eyes. He could already see the distaste in their eyes and the laughter that mocked at him gently behind his back. Already, Ayaka-sensei was watching him. He was hanging onto his pride by its shreds as he calmly approached the nearest group.

"Could I join you?"

_15 minutes…_

* * *

Incredibly, tennis practice had stayed pretty much the same despite everything that had happened. Fuji suspected that it was largely because of the upcoming tournament, and Tezuka-buchou's recent obsession of making anyone who even _looked _like they were thinking of saying anything that was unrelated to tennis, run another ten rounds around the school. In a way, it was good not to have to feel the weight of people's eyes on him as everyone concentrated fiercely on tennis.

_1…2…1…2…_

If he could, he would have liked to stay under the hot water and let it burn through the damp strands of his hair, scalding warmth sliding against him. He liked to sink into the water and emerge with his hair was plastered against his closed eyes, messy and wet. His skin was beginning to feel tender and he knew that when he emerged from the baths, it'd have turned a light flushed pink from all the hot water. Nevertheless, Fuji closed his eyes and remained perfectly still, concentrating on the steady dripping of the faucet.

A knock sounded on the door, echoing louder than necessary in the quiet bathroom.

"Fuji, I need to speak to you. I'd be waiting in the locker room."

_Tezuka._

Fuji listened to the footsteps that quietly faded out of hearing, and methodically slid his head under the water, hiding the tears that had begun to fill his eyes.

* * *

"This isn't a time for games, Fuji. Your game has been sliding, but today was especially bad."

"Why? I didn't have a problem returning any of Taka-san's shots."

"Your form was off. Even your heart wasn't in the game. Any perceptive bystander could pick up that much, even though you won. You are a Regular, Fuji. Try to remember that."

Fuji sensed that Tezuka was frustrated, despite the mild-sounding advice. The implicit threat that lay in his words didn't go unacknowledged. Fuji didn't particularly care if he was punished to run another twenty, hundred, or even two hundred rounds. What did it matter?

"Is it a problem keeping me on the Regulars team?" he asked casually.

Tezuka took in a sharp breath, before snapping back at him.

"Do you want to quit?"

The pause that lingered between them went far longer than was necessary for Fuji to think of an appropriate comeback. Tezuka wanted to retract his words the moment he had said them. He had been furious at Fuji's careless flippancy, but when the words left his mouth, the gaping silence that ensued made him uncomfortably aware that he wasn't even prepared for any answer but "no". Shifting uncomfortably, Tezuka cleared his throat awkwardly when Fuji spoke up quietly.

"I'm sorry, I'd work harder."

"I said what I did in a fit of anger. I apologise." Tezuka muttered.

Fuji simply nodded tiredly and turned to walk away. He was tired of being the one to give in consistently. Hell would freeze over before Tezuka Kunimitsu saw fit to yield to anyone.

It was driving him insane actually.

Fuji only liked people who didn't cling to him and wail at his imminent departure from them. They were non-threatening and didn't force you to deal with them. People either refused him point blank, or caved in to his advances but Tezuka was frustrating in his complete lack of responsiveness. Despite the bland appearance he presented to the outside world, his presence alone on the tennis courts, could win over an entire school. Some were attracted by such charisma, but Fuji only wound up feeling trapped.

"Fuji."

"Yes, Tezuka?" he murmured softly, still walking and not bothering to turn.

"…"

The silence was enough to make him pause, turning around to meet the awkward shyness in Tezuka's eyes. It was strange to see their stoic captain grapple for words, and Fuji suddenly remembered the times where Tezuka had gone out of his way to make him happy. He had waited for him after practice, carried his bags without any prior request for him to help, visited him when he was ill, endured his numerous attempts to make him smile with the same patient air of resignation. It struck Fuji then, that Tezuka was perhaps not as immovable as he had thought, only hopelessly awkward in his dealings with people. The same dogged affection remained in his attitude to everyone on the team that he had invested so much of himself in, but towards Fuji, there was something unreadable that flared behind the depths of his dark brown eyes.

"Be with me."

There it was. Fuji had smiled involuntarily at that, a natural reflex, trying to stop his heart from racing madly. Tezuka had said something too direct and simple to be misconstrued, and it was what he had always longed to hear. But now that he held Tezuka's heart in his hands, he didn't quite know what to do with it. He had always imagined that this would be the part where they would confess their undying love for one another, and Tezuka would be there to protect him from his inner demons, and they could be happy with each other forever.

But life wasn't a fairytale and he wasn't the one that Tezuka was looking for. He wasn't the one capable of an equal amount of affection in return, nor the one that should have been so fortunate, standing in front of their proud captain and seeing the naked honesty in his words, and the awkward, trusting way in which he handed his heart over to the one who could break it unflinchingly. There was no way they could be together and Fuji knew that he would be the one to leave eventually. Tezuka loved in the same way that he simply _was_, an unshakeable, immutable will that dominated him and all he did. And Fuji didn't want to be the one who took his soul and broke it into pieces.

"I'm not the one you're looking for, Tezuka."

He had tried to put it across gently, but his voice emerged sounding more strained than the casual tone that he had intended to adopt. Tezuka took another step closer, looking even more assured of himself, as though Fuji's reaction had been exactly what he had been looking for.

"Syuusuke…it has always been you from the moment you first smiled at me. You might not feel the same way towards me, but at least give me a chance to change that. I _know _you, Fuji. And I still want you, I would still love you even if you won't ever feel that way towards me."

"It won't work. I'd leave you, I'd leave just when you think that we might even stand a chance. And don't tell me that you love me." Fuji heard his voice waver and he couldn't stop thinking of the way everything was turning into a parody, a mockery of what he had went through with Kaito and prayed that it would never happen again.

"Then I wouldn't mention it again, if you truly don't want me to. You don't have to promise anything, and you're free to leave whenever you want. But right now, just for the present… stay with me, Syuusuke. You don't have to hide anymore when you're with me."

Fuji didn't quite know when he had started crying or when Tezuka had come close enough for his arms to hug him and brush away the tears that had escaped without his notice. After a moment, he had calmed enough to notice that Tezuka was stroking his hair, pressing his lips against his forehead and letting him feel loved and protected at the same time. He wondered at himself at not having seen this side of Tezuka, or even suspecting that it had existed, before gently pushing the other boy away.

"Tezuka, it wouldn't work out," he tried again, just to see what would happen.

To his delight, Tezuka gave him his usual look of patient exasperation.

"Syuusuke, get this straight. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're willing to try it out with me at this time, and I'd do everything in my power to convince you that we could be…I mean…be together."

Fuji laughed despite himself. It was as if Tezuka was returning to himself, and amazed at his own ability to speak volumes, instead of his usual monotonic answers.

"Be what? Boyfriends? _Lovers_ perhaps, Kunimitsu?"

"Stop being so cruel," Tezuka informed him dryly, looking secretly pleased at the use of his name and all its insinuations. They were starting to pack their things, which had been left lying discarded within the locker room after tennis practice.

"Yes, Kuni-chan!"

"You just earned yourself 20 rounds at practice tomorrow."

Outside of the room, the remaining sunlight was dying even as Tezuka locked up, the sound of the copper keys jarring through the quiet evening.

"But that's mean, Mitsu-tan!"

"Now you know I'm captain for a reason."

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: I'm sorry! I promised to update once a week but well, Christmas and New Year parties got underway. I didn't beta this chapter, so my apologies if Tezuka accidentally sprouted an extra hand or something.


	9. Endless Time

It was raining and Fuji wasn't too sure what time it was.

The rain was washing down the grey concrete and pooling into a dirty grey at the crevasses just between the staircase and the ground below. He watched it silently, grey water and the occasional yellow leaf that went by, browned, crisp, folded into itself and bobbing along the water's surface.

The skies were dark and it was grey all around, and Tezuka was probably still asleep behind him. He remembered the warmth of his arms and how soft the material of his shirt had been, when they had changed for bed and moved closer in the middle of the night, absently searching for warmth in the midst of the cold autumn rains that kept on pouring. Involuntarily, he shivered slightly, his eyes searching out the bleak scene before him, anything to keep his mind occupied and away from the involuntary sadness that always seized him and never let go.

Behind him, he saw Tezuka's reflection in the wet glass, rivulets of water streaking across his face and sliding down to the window's groves below. He expected an awkward hello, abnormally loud in this grey, wet morning and stern somehow, making their respective positions clear with a single word. Or perhaps it would be awkward. An uncertain greeting to Fuji's refusal to say a word, lest his smile be too bright and cheery, or forced and tired, prompting an assortment of responses he didn't wish to deal with.

There were always so many faces that he could adopt, and so many responses, stonily different and somehow in their own pattern, similar and unbearably tedious. Many times where Inui had wrote pages on his differences, Fuji had felt the compulsion to inform Inui that he was striving only to see patterns in chaos and similarities where everything was different, but it was impossible to track real chaos, pointless even to invest his time into the unending search of one individual, rather than to pursue the creation of scientific miracles and tangible rewards. Was it curiosity that drove him on? Fuji could never understand.

Quietly, Tezuka slid his arms around the shivering boy and kept him warm.

* * *

Yuuta hadn't even seemed surprised when he had opened Fuji's bedroom door later. The stoic Seigaku captain was sitting at the edge of Fuji's bed, patiently highlighting his biology text whilst Syuusuke prattled away happily at his cacti. He had informed his brother that Yumiko would be dropping by their apartment to cook, and would like to see Syuusuke at home for dinner that day. When Fuji smiled and nodded, Tezuka was amazed to see the genuine affection in his eyes. Somehow, it lit up his face, and made him seem more…real somehow.

Fuji Syuusuke was always so distant. It was as though a part of him was absent from where he stood, yet Tezuka could never place his finger on what it was that bothered him. Sometimes, he rather fancied that if he reached out to hold his hand, his fingers would meet nothing but air. Syuusuke was distinctly unreal in that manner, holding himself apart even as he seemed to be participating wholeheartedly in all activities. Even so, he was fair, beautiful, and rather fragile looking for a boy his age.

Maybe it was because he was slender. Petite.

"Short, maybe?"

Tezuka realised belatedly that he had been eyeing Fuji and talking aloud.

Fuji gave him a pointed look and turned back gracefully to his beloved plants, with an air of injured dignity. Tezuka smiled slightly and reached out to tug at Fuji's hand, smoothly drawing the tensai closer until he was close enough to be pulled onto his lap.

"Would you rather I used that term?"

"Why even discuss my height, when you could spend your time telling me how beautiful ore-sama looks?" Fuji retorted dryly, imitating Atobe's polished accent to perfection.

"Because you are _gorgeous._ And you know it." Tezuka whispered huskily into his ear, making him shiver in delight. His eye caught sight of the mirror in his bedroom, and for one moment, he was transfixed by how amazing they looked together, and how well they seemed to complement each other. He had an eye for beauty, but this went deeper into a tempered…balance perhaps, a sensation of everything being "right" as long as they could lock this moment away for ever.

"And I supposed you want me only for my looks?" Fuji murmured resignedly.

Tezuka hummed for a moment and deliberated over his answer, absently drawing circles on Fuji's slender wrists, resting his chin against the smaller boy's hair. Sometimes Fuji could be at the top of the world, virtually unassailable as he mercilessly broke down each of his enemies, cold and detached and alive in his gentle cruelty. At other moments, he was quietly needy; a hair's breadth from sinking into the capable persona that lived in him whenever he felt that rejection was inevitable.

"Honestly? I'm not too sure if it's your looks that attract me," Tezuka said at last.

"Maybe it's just a little problem I have, to be infatuated with everything that has to do with you. Everything, from the way you stretch when you wake up, the way your eyes really are closed when you stumble into the bathroom, and the way you glanced at me hurriedly and hope that I didn't notice when you nearly walked into a wall, the way the wind lifts your hair when you play tennis and the way you smile at me when you've finally finished beating your opponents into the ground……"

Tezuka's words were cut off as Fuji planted his lips on his and kissed him deeply, putting in all the affection that he felt for the other boy in that moment. He marvelled inwardly that he had never known how much Tezuka could speak, almost as though he had spent his life in reserved silence, only breaking into a torrent of words when he sensed that Fuji wanted – no, needed – to hear every excruciating detail of how he felt, and would still be endlessly fascinated by them. He liked it that Tezuka was never this way with anybody else, he loved the solemn but romantic words Tezuka spoke without a trace of embarrassment, and every single one of actions that carved their way into his heart when he couldn't bring himself to speak.

Tezuka's face was flushed slightly, a light pink that stole across his features, that Fuji would never have noticed if his beloved captain had not been so fair. Smirking as Tezuka tried vainly to regain control of himself, his fingers tense against Fuji's shoulders, Fuji deliberately scooted closer on his lap, kneeling against him as he threaded his fingers through soft, brown hair and pulled Tezuka closer for another kiss. The stoic captain froze momentarily, before clumsily doing his best to respond to the fleeting, seductive brushes of Fuji's mouth against his.

"You're not very good at this," Fuji observed, not unkindly.

Tezuka couldn't explain why that comment hurt him, even when it was obvious that Fuji had simply been himself, and had not intended to put him down harshly. His helplessness had probably shown in his eyes, even as he allowed Fuji to push him gently backwards against the bed, soft lips smoothing quiet kisses against his mouth and against his jaw.

"That's okay," Fuji murmured softly even as he fingered the lapels of Tezuka's shirt. "We can learn together."

* * *

They were both still in a state of undress, watching the rain pelt against the window ceaselessly. Fuji's was using his lap as a pillow, drowsily cuddled against him for warmth even as Tezuka stroked his hair gently. Tezuka had been sweetly obliging, and Fuji was amused to realise that even in sex, their captain was fiercely competitive and completely devoted to the task at hand. The fact that he was a quick learner could only have boded well. Abruptly, Fuji remembered Tezuka's competence in tennis with both hands, and laughed soundlessly into the pillow he was clutching, to avoid having Tezuka notice and question him about his sudden burst of hilarity.

"Your shoulders are shaking." Tezuka stated bluntly, poking him in the shoulder and making Fuji chuckle out loud despite himself.

"Care to share what you find so amusing?"

Tezuka's tone was dry, but uncertainty wavered in his voice, and Fuji instantly felt bad, realising that he had probably made the other boy feel insecure and inadequate. Turning to face him, Fuji's breath was stolen away when he looked at Tezuka, his strong, handsome face unexpectedly vulnerable and blind without his glasses, patiently waiting for an explanation.

"I loved the way you're mastered your ambidextrous ability." Fuji replied honestly.

Tezuka waited for the inevitable punchline, the sock in the gut that never came, and wondered at the amusement mingled with a soft affection in Fuji's eyes, as he understood and smiled at him nonetheless. Tezuka watched as Fuji yawned cutely, stretching like a cat before sitting up beside him. He resisted the urge to laugh in surprise when he saw Fuji watching him out of the corner of his eye, and knowing that this was a special show put up for him.

"Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"I'm only surprised that you haven't asked it earlier," Fuji confessed quietly, staring down at his hands.

"I don't change my mind once I made it. Questions could come later, and only to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Would you like to know if the photos were real?"

"…are they?"

"Yes, now that you asked."

Fuji took a deep breath, and tried to speak normally, such that the words wouldn't rush out and get scrambled up, the way they did whenever he was nervous. His unease was soothed a little, only when Tezuka shifted further away, allowing him space to calm down.

"I guess I run from the facts, and it's as though the person who did these things, was someone else, distinct and separate from me. But ultimately, it was myself who made things worse, and I can't even hate Eiji because I also believe……I believe that if I were to be the one to hurt myself, then no one else can ever cause me harm. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"You know that's not true."

"Why not? It takes away my sadness. Why would anyone want to be so unhappy?"

"Your loneliness will kill you in the end, faster than anything else would."

"I deserve it. But I…still don't wish to go this way, at the mercy of another."

"Will you be with me? I can't promise to erase your sorrow, but there is no one else who would fight harder than I would, to show you that this…this is not the only ending there can be."

"Saa…I'm so tired of waking up each morning. Did you know that?"

And Fuji was crying unexpectedly, his hands pressing against his eyes, choking to keep his tears inside. His paranoia was overwhelming, and his mind could only tell him of his many failures and the weakness that mocked him with the wetness of his tears. Tezuka's arms were around him and he couldn't feel them, only the tightness in his chest as he rocked himself slowly, blinking back the onslaught of tears.

"I think…" Fuji began, voice hoarse with the strain it caused not to break. "I think he used to say something along those lines as well."

"Your boyfriend before me."

It was a statement, not even a question, and Fuji was scared that Tezuka would be angry. But all there was, was the tenderness in which Tezuka stroked his hair, and held him closer, and it made him angry somewhat that there was nothing he could lash out at. He wanted to scream and be broken and taken apart and pieced together like clockwork, and he should have been hurt as badly as he deserved by anyone, that is, apart from Tezuka who loved him and was satisfied with that.

"It's simple, really. He loved me, or at least I believe he did. And then he left one day, and never told me why."

Amazing really, how such simple words described everything that had shattered his heart and left him desolate and even worse than before.

"Could I ask you not to leave?"

"I'd stay as long as you want. Probably longer."

"That'd be nice."

It was still raining outside, but he was feeling warm and loved, and Fuji would have cried if only he knew how to remember this one moment for the rest of his life.

_I would be your anchor to this crazy world, and you would always be my most beautiful._

* * *

END CHAPTER


	10. Beautiful Lie

Tezuka was seriously worried.

The past week had passed without incident, and Fuji's family was accustomed to having him spend the night. His father had even taken him aside, to remark on how much happier Syuusuke seemed to be around him, and how his smile appeared more frequently these days. Tezuka knew that things were not perfect between them, and he was anxious, knowing that Syuusuke was still being bullied in his class. But Fuji had his pride, and Tezuka would only know how good or bad things had been, from the small signs in his behaviour.

Whenever it had been an especially bad day, Fuji talked more, almost tripping his own words as he chattered anxiously about anything that happened to cross his mind. He talked more, and avoided looking at Tezuka directly. Tezuka dreaded even more, the way Fuji curled up and buried his head in his arms. He didn't even _not _cry, but those blue eyes that regarded him were so sad. They were dead inside, devoid of everything but a sick tiredness at heart, and Tezuka never understood why Fuji was slowly falling apart inside, when nothing catastrophic was happening.

The strain placed on himself to take care of the other boy was immense, in terms of both physical and emotional burdens. He didn't mind, as he loved Fuji intensely, but despite the best of his efforts, things seemed to be getting worse. Fuji was retreating closer into himself, and to make things worse, he had begun to sleepwalk. Tezuka had attempted to wake Fuji on the few occasions where it had occurred, but nothing seemed to break the somnambulist spell the other boy was caught under.

It had scared him the first time he had opened his eyes, and seen Fuji sitting emotionlessly by the side of the bed. He had not responded to any of his calls, and Tezuka had watched him quietly fold and unfold a letter, his eyes blind and unseeing as he slowly stood up and placed the envelope on the topmost shelf of his open closet. Tezuka had attempted to bring it up to Fuji before, but the other boy had always laughed it off and declared good naturedly that Tezuka must have been dreaming. He had been tempted to read over Fuji's shoulder on occasion, after catching sight of a name written at the back of the envelope, but his belief in privacy and respect in relationships held fast. After all, someone else's love letter was meant only for his beloved's eyes.

That night, Tezuka stayed awake and waited.

-

Fuji opened his eyes to see Tezuka sitting beside him, holding a still alarm clock in his hands.

"You were sleepwalking again last night."

"What?"

"You were talking in your sleep. You simply stood there, in front of your closet, before taking out a letter and staring at it. I called you numerous times but you didn't wake up, until the alarm clock started ringing."

Fuji blinked and tried to think, feeling the hairs rising at the back of his neck. Tezuka's eyes were bewildered and caring, and he didn't seem to understand what terrified him so deeply. How had he awakened to find his world looking just the same, and knowing that it had changed somehow, in an indescribable fashion? As far as he understood, he had never kept any letters in his possession. He had never sleepwalked, and from what Tezuka had said, that night had occurred before. Perhaps many, many times before. How often had he stood silently, alone, in front of his closet and waited in the darkness?

"What…what letters are you talking about?"

"You wouldn't let them go, even when I tried to take them and lead you back to bed," Tezuka said dryly, pointing in the direction of his closet.

"I saw you take them from the top shelf inside."

Fuji bit his tongue and waited for his panic to subside. He had never placed any of his personal belongings inside the closet, apart from his clothes. The top shelf had been empty for as long as he knew, and there was no way that he could not have remembered any letter that he had received, and further, placed it in the one place which he had developed an abnormal phobia towards.

His hands were shaking slightly as he turned towards his closet, reaching upwards and feeling about the dusty wooden shelf until his fingers brushed against the unexpected sensation of smooth paper envelopes. Tezuka seemed content to give him his privacy, even as he turned away to fold the sheets neatly back onto the bed.

"_Dearest Syuusuke,_

_By the time that you read this letter, I would have died…and you will know that it was all because of you. I would not have been forced to this stage, if it hadn't been for you. I will slit my wrists tomorrow night, and I wish that you would be there to see it. I wish to see everything unfold, but I would rather drown my love for you in blood. _

_I want you to remember me for the rest of your life. _

_I love you._

_Kaito"_

There wasn't much that he could have said. Fuji was fixated on the letter, and he couldn't stop the tears from falling silently. He was so terrified that he couldn't think to utter a word, or even scream. There wasn't a way he could bring himself to say the words that must have been true. How had he been obsessively reading a suicide letter for the past few years, and yet never even seen the letter clutched in his hand?

"Who's it by?" Tezuka asked curiously, his back turned to him.

"…it's a letter from my ex-boyfriend."

"At least he did love you once," Tezuka said gently.

That was about the time he lost it.

-

Fuji had ceased crying in a matter of minutes, and had simply curled up in bed and gazed at the opposing wall in stark incomprehension. It had taken Tezuka the better part of an hour to hold him and stop him from shaking so badly. The feeling of violation was so strong, that Fuji had rushed to the toilet to throw up repeatedly. Even then, he was left feeling so sick and terrified and cold, that Tezuka had forced him to stay home, insisting on staying by his side until the panic subsided.

From what Tezuka had said, he could have had been staring at the suicide note of his boyfriend for the past years, and had never even registered his death in his mind. And all the letters addressed to him, all the pieces of the past he never knew he lost, faded yellow in the closet shelves he had never touched.

Why? Why couldn't he remember what he had done, why didn't he remember receiving any of the letters? He had been crying and obsessively digging out each of the letters that lay undiscovered at the top shelf of his cupboard, and he didn't remember half the letters that he received. Had he truly forgotten so much of their shared past? Had he somehow skipped the part where his lover had killed himself over him? His hands sustained multiple paper cuts, crushing each flimsy page in his trembling hands as he read and re-read each word until Tezuka pulled him away and forced him to calm down.

"I don't understand why they're here, why they turned up after all this time, and why they're here, why they have to be - here - of all places…"

"Why? Tell me what's wrong."

Tezuka felt an unexpected chill run down his back, when Fuji turned towards him, his eyes simultaneously dead and scared.

"_Because I threw them all away before."_

-

They sat on the swings, letting the golden and red colours of autumn swirl past. The wind lifted Fuji's hair slightly, as he scrutinised his ice cream cone and licked all the errant drops that made their way down the side of the wafer. He was in a thoughtful mood, and Tezuka's determined rationality in the face of the bizarre lent strength to him. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for everything. Several possibilities had been racing through his mind, and he was steadfastly picking through all of them.

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Tezuka muttered, frowning down at his ice cream.

Fuji had to smile when he sneaked a sidelong glance at Tezuka. He had never thought he'd see the day when Tezuka was actually willing to sit on the swings and eat ice cream. It was a shame he had completely forgotten to bring his camera with him; after all, opportunities like this didn't show up every day.

"Well. Perhaps Yumiko-neesan saw the letter and chucked it somewhere. After all, his name was written at the back, and she never did approve of my choice in guys."

"Count yourself lucky that she even approves of you liking guys in the first place," Tezuka said dryly, picturing the shocked expressions on his traditional grandparent's faces when they learnt that their only grandson played for the other team.

"It must be your charm," Fuji teased, his eyes sliding into familiar crescents as he poked at Tezuka's arm until the captain rolled his eyes and batted him away gently.

Fuji stared down at his hands quietly, letting his ice cream drip away into the grass. When he had spoken to Tezuka earlier, the other boy was taken aback before settling on a look of mild resignation. Somehow it rankled inside him, and when Tezuka had suggested that they take a walk to calm themselves down, the suspicion he had felt was pushed aside by the shock that had possessed him at that time.

"Na, Kunimitsu, do you believe me?"

Tezuka had hesitated before asking him what that meant. Fuji ate the rest of his ice cream, feeling the icy sweetness and crispy cone shards stick in his throat.

"It's alright. I know it's difficult to believe. I wouldn't even believe myself, if I had been the one listening to me."

"It is better to consider all the options, Syuusuke. As you said, you threw away all the previous letters. I don't see how they could have returned to your closet again, unless you simply put them away and forgot about it."

"I didn't. Honestly, I wouldn't forget and I didn't," Fuji stated coldly, slightly hurt by Tezuka's pragmatism.

"Well, there might be another reason for it, like your sister for example."

"…I know, but I don't think it's her. I don't think it's her at all."

Fuji buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook silently as he cried, overwhelmed by his fear and sadness that simply wouldn't go away. His first love had died and there were nights when he had dreamt of his tawny-haired boyfriend dying in front of his eyes and now, Kaito had killed himself and he didn't want Tezuka to go the same way. He had dreamt of better times in the past where they were together, and they were happy and no one could separate them from each other. Now, he had Tezuka, but he still felt like someone was missing. It was a gap that could not be breached any longer. The distance between them was so incredibly far, Tezuka didn't believe him and he didn't believe himself, and he was slowly going insane.

END CHAPTER


	11. Constructing 99 stars

"_In visions of the dark night, I have dreamed of joy departed."  
_

Ayaka-sensei had been reciting from their textbook, a quiet recital of an English poem. Fuji gazed out of the window, and saw the foliage swirl in a whirlwind of burnished gold and red. The wind was chilly and smelt of rain, crumpled leaves amidst the loose soil. Her voice was distinctive but soft, a sound that cut his soul loose and left him transfixed with the beauty of the words and the stark truths presented.

He sincerely believed that he was losing his mind. Tezuka didn't believe him when he said that he had let everything go, had let every last detail float away into the past…which somehow kept returning. Returning with their cold, folded edges perfectly pristine. Nowadays, Fuji slept with all the lights on. He had walked into the living room one day to see his sister and father glance up at him guiltily, and he had known instantly that they were discussing him. He had done his best to smile and act normal, but it didn't deter him from leaving every single light burning brightly into the night.

Still he couldn't sleep much. And the strain was beginning to show around his eyes, and the way he wearily decimated his opponents on court, putting a quick end to them to catch some sleep between the games. Tezuka had miraculously left him alone, without adding laps for him to run, and rumours of a _special _relationship between them was beginning to flourish through the club. Sometimes, he ran anyway, if only to get the mocking voices out of his mind, and the concerned, resigned expression of Tezuka's away from his sight.

Did he truly walk through the paved road of memories, unknown to him, each night?

He could only wonder.

* * *

"I don't understand what you had to gain from it."

"I don't know; I quite liked the satisfaction of watching you fall."

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't hate you. I can say that I had honestly attempted to be friends with you, in order to see the perfection which everyone else apparently believed in. There was _nothing _behind your image, but the slut that you always were."

The pages of Fuji's book shivered and folded painfully. He had clenched his fists so tightly, but he couldn't avoid her seeing that his hands were shaking.

"I'm sorry, was that a touchy subject?"

She laughed quietly, demurely. The rest of the class was involved in the literature discussion, and the chatter drowned out their soft conversation.

"Don't hate Eiji though. He's merely the person who handed over the proof of your debauchery to me. Isn't it pathetic for a person's best friend to hand over such evidence to someone he barely knew? It says a lot for the kind of relationship you have, doesn't it? Could it be because he can no longer stand how hypocritical you are?"

"You aren't as perfect as you make to believe, either."

"Oh, but I do know that. Yet, no matter how debased you feel my actions are right now, nothing can be comparable to your own after all."

"…what do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I meant. You were the one who single-handedly drove my brother to suicide after all."

"I didn't…"

"Yes, you did. It was you. He told us that much, and we never even expected him to take his life. You were killing him slowly, all along, while he was with you."

_No…I didn't want to…_

"You made him too dependant on you. He couldn't even leave your side, and lead his life alone. Can't you see how you've ruined him?"

_..it wasn't me. It wasn't me and I didn't mean to and I - _

"Can't you see how it was all because of you?"

"HE LEFT. He broke up with me and not the other way around, and I DON'T KNOW WHY HE KILLED HIMSELF and I…I didn't force him to…"

Fuji abruptly realised that he was crying, only after Haruka gave him a startled look, reaching out sympathetically to brush away the moisture that dusted his lashes. The class remained in shocked silence, even as his literature partner shifted closer to his side, and touched his arm comfortingly. The silence stretched on in what seemed like forever.

"Fuji-kun, are you alright?" Ayaka-sensei called out haltingly, worried at the violent reaction from her favourite student. Haruka seemed to be calming him down, whispering softly into his ear, and there was a moment where he lifted his head and she could see the sanity flooding back into his cerulean eyes.

Without warning, Fuji raised his hand and struck Haruka harshly.

* * *

"Fuji, I think you're losing it nyah."

"For you to be talking to me, and actually sounding concerned, I guess you might be right."

"…you don't sound like yourself."

"Oh? Forgive me for the slight retardation in my thinking, but we weren't friends for quite a long period of time. I didn't quite expect you to be the expert, with the most updated information on what constituted being 'me' and what didn't."

"What is your problem? Unlike you, I'm trying to get over the past; at least you should know that I'm just trying to help you!"

"You're certainly doing an admirable job at it."

"You know what, screw it. You can fuck off and do whatever you want with your messed up life."

"A pleasure talking to you as always."

* * *

The school was large, certainly big enough to hide a person inside, away from the eyes of everybody else. Still, he had nowhere to go. He didn't want to be alone, not really, just beside someone who understood and didn't judge him. As it was, he could only turn to Tezuka but he couldn't bring himself to approach the aloof captain. Tezuka required a certain submission from him, a charming acquiescence to his authority and he felt like rebelling against it, fighting against their close bonds irrationally, struggling to free himself from a tangled web of what was only love and concern.

Sometimes he didn't understand himself.

He didn't want to say a word and he didn't want to appear weak to everyone else around him. He wished to swallow back his hurt and lash himself until the pain outside made any emotional injury pale in comparison, but the pain was fresh in his mind and the lump in his throat wouldn't go away. He had made Eiji sad, and it hurt him when he saw the expression of the acrobat's face. Deep down, he knew that his friend had only been trying to help.

But laid bare like that, his wounds flayed open and ready for the receiving of unwanted sympathy and infinite compassion…he couldn't bear it. It made him want to cry whenever he was treated too gently, too well, too kindly, and it hurt him more to be laid so open for all to see. Tears had dusted his eyelashes lightly, and his voice was still perfect, reaching into the winds and through the sky, turning away and hurting his best friend and making him cry with the same dry cruelty.

Why?

He stopped attending the rest of the day's classes.

"_I demand that you apologise to Haruka-chan. Fuij. You struck her in front of the class when she had only been trying to help! You may have been overworked but there's no excuse for the atrocious behaviour you have been displaying lately."_

The tennis courts were deserted, save for the regulars who remained behind to view the last ongoing match that day. Momo and Ryoma were fighting it out over the last set, whilst Fuji stood behind the stands, partially concealed by the dark green netting that bordered the courts.

Fuji felt like he was starting to come apart. No longer was it a fraying of the edges, but outside, he smiled as hard as he could as he felt his world starting to unravel. He felt so tired that it hurt even to breathe, every cell in his body screaming for rest and shutdown. It made him long to close his eyes and sink to his feet, burying himself in the loneliest corner of the school that he could find.

"_You do know that what you did was wrong, don't you, Fuji-kun?"_

No, he didn't understand at all. Why could no one comprehend? He asked himself repeatedly in his mind, but he understood that as long as he protected himself, there would be no one who would come to his aid, and no one who would love him – an illusion that never showed his true self to others. But even when he did, there would be no one who would bother. And there was someone he loved so badly that he missed his presence and his comfort, and everything warm and stoic and indescribably lonely about the other boy. There wasn't anything he wouldn't have done for him, but he couldn't let himself go around the captain. He would have to change, and mutate into a different sort of creature altogether, willing to bend to the other's iron will. And it was even more complicated, when he knew in his heart that all Tezuka wanted was to make him happy. Where could he turn to?

He felt a familiar intrusion into his space, and turned to see Tezuka standing beside him, watching the match with an impassive expression. A sudden ache burned in him, to hold Tezuka and be held, and to know it didn't hurt as badly, because someone was willing to take his hand and be with him through everything. But he didn't want to love him; he never even told Tezuka that he loved him before. Even now, he knew that the other had to be feeling isolated, defensive, and as terribly lonely as ever. Probably worse, because in spite of everything he felt and meant, Fuji still flirted with him and teased him and made him blush just to see the faint colour rise in his cheeks. He liked having that degree of control over him, and he wanted to _hurt _Tezuka too, but the other boy accepted everything without a single word of complaint.

Somehow that made his heart hurt the most.

"Tezuka…" he murmured softly, feeling his heart crack a little.

"Aa."

"Could you lend me fifteen seconds?"

Tezuka blinked at that, his eyes catching the gleam of sunlight that flickered against his glasses. The silence that followed Fuji's abrupt question was broken by clapping and cheers of encouragement as Momo scored a point against Ryoma.

He was stunned when Fuji slid his arms around his waist and hugged him.

It was his instinctive response to push the shorter boy away from him, stopping him from such a public display of affection. But something told him that if he turned him away again, things would change irreparably between them from then on. He accepted his usual flirting; he could withstand the soft touches that Fuji inflicted on him day after day, but a simple hug made a lump come into his throat. The yearning to keep Fuji safe and happy in his arms, resounded strongly within him, and yet he found himself completely helpless as to break down the walls that Fuji built around himself.

He probably would not have been able to tell that Fuji was crying, if not for the tension and slight shaking that ran through Fuji's back and arms in an awkward bid to stop crying that hard. By then, Tezuka knew him well enough; to understand how horribly humiliated the other was, by this silent admission of defeat. And if he ever said anything, even words of encouragement, it would force the other boy to turn away, smiling the same broken smile as he walked away yet again.

So Tezuka said nothing, and tightened his arms around the slender boy.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: I believe there should be roughly 2-3 chapters left to go! Was this too angsty? I'm not happy with the way the conversation turned out between Haruka and Fuji though. It's a little too contrived but well...I couldn't really think of any other way the conversation would have developed. :(


	12. Red Rain

One of the best things of dating Fuji, according to Tezuka, was that anything and everything was interesting. He had decided to ask the tensai out on a date, mostly to get his mind off the recent events, but partially because he knew that the other had a romantic streak that clamoured for sakura petals and dying sunsets, and other paraphernalia that Tezuka had long dismissed as absurdly over-hyped and pointless at that.

He had figured that it couldn't kill him to attempt to be…romantic for once in his life, but that hadn't stopped Fuji from bursting into gales of laughter the moment he figured out what was going on. Tezuka was just about to retract his formal invitation, feeling slightly miffed, but the smile that Fuji gave him was so sweet and shy and affectionate at the same time, that the words stuck in his throat anyway. Not that he would actually have gone ahead to say them anyway.

He had to admit that spending two hours in the largest grocery store he had ever seen, spanning 3 entire levels, just looking for avocado-flavoured crackers, was a definite first in his life. Fuji was in exceedingly good spirits, enthusiastically amassing a collection of items that Tezuka personally wouldn't have included under the 'food' section had it been left up to him. He had stayed on the safe side and opted for large strawberries filled with soft vanilla cream inside, their decadence overshadowed by the looming threat of wasabi-flavoured chocolate and fish candy packets that Fuji was waving at him.

He wondered briefly where they would find their appetite for dinner, as their feet took them in the general direction of eateries and other food stores located by the scenic river. Although Fuji ate quite a lot for someone so skinny and he never really quite understood where all the food went…

"Want one?" Tezuka offered a strawberry, noticing the intent look that Fuji was directing at him. To his bemusement, the other boy shook his head vehemently, and continued to give him an anticipatory look.

Tezuka bit down on his strawberry and wondered why this was beginning to feel like an intelligence test of sorts. He didn't want to fail… Not to mention Fuji was turning the charm on at full-force, and complete strangers were beginning to give him accusing looks, as though he was somehow mistreating the vulnerable-looking boy beside him. The absurdity of the idea nearly made him choke on his food.

He offered a second to Fuji after a few moments and the other, predictably, refused it.

Thoughtfully, he bit into his strawberry and felt the clotted cream fill his mouth. He stared down at the juicy fruit in his hand, and again at Fuji who looked at him expectantly. Offering him the half-eaten piece, Tezuka was bemused when Fuji reached out and ate it straight from his fingers, licking them clean playfully, before running ahead to see what the crowds were gawking at in the parade square.

It was amazing that it took so little to keep him happy, really.

* * *

He could almost sense the winter descending, the skies breaking apart for the first flakes that would drift and bury their world alive in white. It would be cold. So cold that you couldn't feel your hands clasped to you, so cold that you couldn't think straight. The very frigidity would sink into your bones yet make you weightless. You could lay your body to rest and let the icy peace flood your brain, and you would sleep eternally.

With neither knowledge nor emotions to hinder your dreams, you could sleep.

His books were returning damaged again. He watched the winds rushing past and swaying the trees in their endless fury, and let the teacher's recital filter through his mind, caught and snared in a small compartment to be filed away. He couldn't forget easily. He had to spend much time when he was younger, devoting himself to remember to forget, such that he did not become overwhelmed by the dizzying array of facts and numbers and scenes and words that crowded into his mind and ate into his perception day and night. Some information he could file away, and others simply repeated themselves dry and still they kept on turning.

_Your classmates don't want you. Nobody does._

Creative insults were circled in the pages of his books, one word followed by another until a complete vulgar sentence was made. He had to applaud his detractors for their tenacity, if not their subtlety, and he only regretted that his neat books should be thus abused. The books hung from their covers, torn and tattered, and where his homework had been neatly printed out in clean writing, patches of ink marred and despoiled his work.

Where he was sitting, a clear border had been formed, where no one would venture closer than the nearest desk to him, which would have been shifted half a row away miraculously. The isolation was obvious, if childish, but it didn't make the hurt fade. He never had a partner for the group activities that were maliciously thrown up with increasing frequency, and he had to endure the neutral gaze of his once treasured teacher, calmly watching him bow his head and approach group after group to see which one would accept him. He didn't think she knew that he was watching her, even as she looked at the classroom scene and smiled at how cooperative her obedient students were. No one kicked up any fuss, no one skipped any lesson, and everything was perfect.

He could feel the cold setting in.

* * *

Sometimes he wondered how he could have been so lucky to have found someone like Tezuka, but he always stopped himself before he thought too much about the issue. Things broke and fell apart whenever he thought too hard about them. What seemed like a whole, would crumble into pieces and everything vanished back into the dust. He looked up at the infinite sky above him and took in a deep breath of fresh air. It wasn't everyday that they could spend time watching the stars move across the skies, on the hill that overlooked the city below.

Fuji treasured every moment that they could spend together. It seemed like an endless, brief but intense bliss at being with someone who understood him and loved him despite of everything. But perfection could never stay unbroken. He no longer had any friends that he could turn to, and he couldn't bring himself to break the iron silence in his family where everyone pretended at being happy. He was beginning to rely too much on Tezuka for emotional support, and he recognised this fact. It was inevitable that this love, this perfection would be taken from him as well. Secretly terrified, he stayed as close to Tezuka as possible, but it didn't erase the sense of finality in him.

It was going to end. Somehow or other, everything was going to end.

"…ne, Tezuka, somehow I never really thought you were the type that went stargazing."

"I disliked it when I was younger. My grandfather took me camping, and I just went back into the tent whenever it was time to rest. Somehow, thinking about the immensity of the rest of the universe, always made my problems pale in comparison. After all, I was an only child…you could say that I wasn't used to _not _being the centre of attention."

Fuji shut his eyes and smiled at the stars that glowed bigger and brighter inside the closed lids of his eyes. They were white, and some twinkled blue and red, and the world was infinite and so immeasurably large. There was some comfort in being a negligible speck of dust in the universe. He wanted to run and fly, and travel to the quiet poles of the universe and feel his soul expand across the centuries and space of the world. He breathed in the scent of wet grass and cement construction and felt it sink into him, layer by layer, a world that revolved and moved and grew and died without him being a part of it. His soul could leave and mingle into the eternal. He would have done that, and been contented, as long as he knew that Tezuka would be by his side. He might actually even have believed that love, nothing but a fleeting illusion of ill-placed fancy and misguided hope…perhaps, it too could be eternal.

"Isn't it lonely to walk alone?"

"Not really. What is essential is invisible to the eye."

Fuji smiled and turned away, feeling the cool sensation of grass pressed wetly against his cheek. His head hurt, and he could feel his mood darkening and he was falling, and the ground was slipping beneath him. He didn't dare to open his eyes and see the infinity that lay beyond and fear that the ground was slanting, and he was still falling.

_You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed._

* * *

Tezuka bit him gently and Fuji tilted his head to allow him better access, feeling light fingers grazing across the bruised skin and down his shoulder blade. It was a good thing that even gym attire had sleeved shirts and no marks were going to be visible. He tried to relax but his fingers were giving him away, digging deeper creases into the soft bed. There wasn't anything wrong but Tezuka's gentleness with him was driving him insane. A part of him screamed that it was his penance and his fault, and he needed to be punished for everything that was going wrong.

"Don't be so gentle with me, I won't break," he choked out, just barely able to hear the words he breathed, vanishing like mist against the glass mirror of Tezuka's neck. The other boy's expression was smoothly impassive and his tone neutral, as he inclined his head to observe the one before him.

"I'm a little afraid that you would. Really." Tezuka informed him, smoothing the harshness of his words away with butterfly kisses that grazed against his forehead. There was something incredibly intense about the delicacy which Tezuka employed, treating him so reverently that he wanted to beg him to stop before he cried. He needed to be hurt and he couldn't achieve that when Tezuka insisted on being so _nice _to him.

When fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed, he choked on the unexpected sensation, unable to breathe and think under the sheer violence. It brought back unexpected memories, scenes that he had forgotten and deliberately left buried under associated terms which he swore never to raise again.

"_And would you like me to hurt you?"_

"_No…yes…I mean, yes I do, please." Fuji was begging and crying, and he didn't quite recognise his voice, as rent with sobs and gasping from the lack of air caused by Kaito's vice-grip on his neck. His fingers scrabbled madly against the ground and he could barely feel the sensation of his fingernails being torn and bloodied against the uneven cement below. The toilet was rarely used, and cleaned even lesser, and it was degrading at first, to be forced against the accumulated filth and yellow streaked tiles of the floor. _

"_Whatever made you think it was about what you wanted?" _

_His voice was malicious and it was scaring him, but there wasn't much time to feel before a hand ran through his hair teasingly, affectionately, before yanking him roughly to land on his knees and forcing him to crawl. The gravel on the ground was entering the grazed cuts on his legs and it hurt to move. _

_His cheeks were burning and his eyes stung with the pain and indignity of the rough treatment, but Kaito's eyes were alight and Fuji couldn't help but feel relieved that at least he hadn't forced him into something that he did not enjoy. He hated being humiliated, but it was his punishment, and it was his fault and everything was wrong. Wrong because he was born, because he lived, because he was Fuji Syuusuke and he could never scrub that away from his skin, no matter how hard he tried, until his skin had rubbed raw and patches had split into superficial bloody wounds. He had looked at the bathwater turning pink and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry that he was bathing in blood that he could never wash away until his life had ended. He hated himself and he hurt and Kaito was hitting him now, the pipe had broken away from an unused, rusty sink. The sharp edges of the bolts still attached to the broken piece was catching on his skin, and he vaguely recognised the rushing in his ears as his own feeble screaming as he writhed and prayed for the torment to end._

_It had been addictive to see the blood and feel the pain unleashed physically and keeping him sane for a little while longer, until the torment rose to crescendos inside that he couldn't hold back and he hurt himself again. He wanted to be punished and accept his penance for being too worthless and too ugly and he hated himself for everything he was. _

_He needed to see the crimson rivulets leeking out of the wounds, he needed superficial cuts that caused sharp bolts of pain to lace through him but not fatal enough to cleave him from the world too early. Yuuta would be sad, and Fuji didn't wish to place further disgrace upon his family, more than the disrepute that they had garnered to their name anyway. The pain was stopping him from thinking, from feeling, and a racking cough bubbled up in his lungs and left him breathless from the exertion. The wounds split open from his back again, bleeding profusely after coagulating a few moments ago. _

_Fuji felt the warm, sticky wetness rupture from his wounds down his back, and he closed his eyes and waited for the blows to rain again. _

He breathed and came back into himself, where Tezuka looked at him in concern, worry and guilt written so clearly in his face that Fuji hated himself for having asked for something like that to begin with. He shook his head in response to Tezuka's silent query and reached out to hold him closer, and reassure himself that everything was truly over.

Fuji couldn't stop crying but it was only a slight release from the agony that bubbled in him constantly with no relief in sight. His body could not handle the pain at this point in time, but it was easy to let his photographic memory recapture every blood clotted image in the past. There was a strange closeness that he felt towards Tezuka, who could make him cry and still sooth his tears away afterward.

But it hadn't hurt physically, and he hadn't been punished enough for the same sins that he wrought, and it could never be enough to take the pain away.

* * *

The morning sun was beginning to rise above the horizon, illuminating the skies in dusty yellow. The faint warmth smudged everything in its path, leaving behind a quiet, pleasant chill in the air. Tezuka had returned home earlier that night, and Fuji left his house early to watch the sunrise, alone on the hill that overlooked the city, on his way to school. At times like these, he let his mind meander along well-worn tracks in the hopes of discovering an interesting nugget of information left unturned. Nearly always, his thoughts returned to the person who remained the most unknown to him.

He hated the way he couldn't even remember the last time that he had seen his mother. Wasn't he supposed to remember something as significant as that? Wasn't that what everybody else did? Weren't they supposed to remember their last meeting with the deceased, treasuring even the bitter resentment that the other had died even before one got the chance to say anything? Why couldn't he even remember something as significant as that?

After he had begged his sister to tell him what had happened in the past, she told him of how they had found him unconscious near the bed, and how he simply hadn't woken up for a year. Their mother had passed away in the year that he had remained unaware, and selective amnesia caused him to forget the most recent events leading up to the time when he had become comatose.

He knew it was far too late, he still regretted not being able to see her one last time. But time had passed, and there was little enough that he remembered these days. It could be something as simple as a familiar whiff of perfume, a particular shade of colour, a mannerism or a simple word that made him feel that he had experienced it somewhere before. Sometimes, it felt like a familiar hide-and-seek game, when he was a little kid and was crying when he thought that he had lost her for good. It was though she was just waiting patiently for him to find her. And it would be like all those other games where she would smile at him, take his hand and bring him home again.

As long as he knew that she loved him, nothing else would matter.

* * *

Abruptly, he felt a pair of eyes upon him, their cool intensity marking him out against the others that thronged the same path he took each day to school. Yet when he turned around, all he caught was a glimpse of the stranger, before he disappeared amidst the crowds.

He had to be dreaming, really.

He thought he caught a flash of blue in his eyes.

Blue as the sky that extended beyond their reach.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A.N: Longest chapter yet! I'm so excited about ending this story soon! Right from the beginning, I was most thrilled about the concluding portions. I know it's a little confusing right now but I promise it will make more sense at the end; that is if you will pardon all the inevitable dramatics that I will throw into it. And because I'm in a good mood, I shall let you know that Chapters 9 and 10 have hints about the ending. And Chapter 9 has a line that EXPLICITLY gives away the ending. Happy searching.

Oh and I'm coining a new genre. I present to you Aesthetic Angst.


	13. Unfurling of the cold morning

"C'mon, I could show you a good time…"

Fuji looked over at the source of noise and disturbance, only to see a man being accosted by another drunk, slightly overweight fellow that leaned so far onto him that he fairly breathed down the collar of the poor guy. Fuji raised his glass and invited the harassed man to join him. The look of absurd gratitude and relief that flooded the other's expression, wasn't quite enough to put Fuji in an irreversibly charitable mood that evening.

Yet, before he could get a word in, Fuji felt cold wetness dripping off his hair.

"You bastard, what the hell do you think you're doing?" the other man screamed at him incoherently, rage contorting his features. His hand held a half empty beer mug limply, as he continued to rant and rave, blissfully ignorant of the bouncers that were headed his way. Fuji considered yanking his hair out by the roots, and slamming his mouth into the edge of the bar counter. Then, catching the sight of the young man who looked as though he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and die, he amended his plans a little.

Running his fingers up and down the shoulder of his newfound prize, Fuji tilted his head and smiled.

"I should have thought it was obvious?"

Before the mug itself connected with Fuji's head, the bouncers had already caught his arm in mid air, and were busy hoisting the struggling man out of the club itself. Fuji shrugged and turned back to the young man, realising in amusement that his cheeks had raised hotly in colour. Smiling contentedly, Fuji slipped his arm through his and pulled him in the direction of the bathroom. He had begun to stop breathing as the seconds ticked by, contentedly feeling his air supply run low. His determination pressed him on to swallow back the choking, accepting the slight giddiness. He would wait it out. He would triumph and wait out the need for him to breathe. There was no reason why he should lose.

_Pain will take away the engulfing blackness and set you free. _

"What do you think you were doing back there?"

Tezuka's voice sounded from somewhere far away. Pulling him away from himself, stopping him from hurting himself, from hurting other people, yanking him forcefully back into the dreamlike state he could never break out from.

This wasn't real.

None of this was happening.

* * *

It was raining. It was the kind that of rain that seemed to promise that it would fall forever, until the world was drowned in muddy depths. He had cancelled tennis practice that day, due to the abrupt downpour in the middle of practice. Talk had been rife that Fuji-sempai's bad mood had influenced the weather to darken, as much as his uncanny prediction of Hakugei's precise launching moments, was based on his incredible psychic powers. It made him sick to listen to their senseless babble, and he had personally promised 50 rounds to the next idiot that he discovered spreading the rumours further.

Yet, it was not without a certain degree of uncertainty that Tezuka approached the tennis prodigy. Fuji was sitting at in a lonely corner, heedless of the damp that soaked the ground which he sat upon, watching the rain fall from the skies, cleansing the pavements below and washing away a fair amount of eroded soil.

His hand touched his shoulder lightly.

"I saw her again, you know."

"You know that is not possible, you told me yourself that she died – "

Tezuka sat down beside him, watching him flip through the photo albums and scrutinising each one for details.

"I know what I saw. She was walking towards the grocery store that - "

"How do you know you weren't dreaming?"

All it took was one question to blur the fine line between reality and sleep.

Fuji had been staying awake every single night, too exhausted to sleep, too frightened to keep his eyes closed. There were moments when he succumbed and tumbled into an irritable, headache-inducing slumber. Those were the times when he slept and dreamt, and awoke numb to the concept that somehow, he returned to life, grey morning after morning. He was frayed so thin that he felt as though anyone would see, _anyone _could tell that he was dying and he needed their help. He wanted someone to see, to know, and he didn't have the heart to tell Tezuka that it wasn't even him he needed right then.

He kept dreaming of death. It hurt indescribably to awaken and find himself alone; and still wanting to feel the same emptiness, anything to take the hurt away for a little longer. Wanting…still wanting… Every night, he let the minutes tick past, waiting for the silence to yawn deeply before him, skirting the chasms in his mind, and still somehow wanting for the catharsis of somuch _pain_ and blood to hurt him. He missed the unbearable gentleness that descended after the screaming and the hurt.

"Syuusuke…why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

Fuji smiled. Bitter, sad, his smile was a fragment of his mask and he caught the flash of pain that showed in his lover's eyes.

"I only regret that it wasn't me."

* * *

Mama's eyes had been blue. Like aquamarines, like the sunlit ocean above, an iridescent blue that glowed when she was happy, and darkened significantly when she was displeased. It was a pity, as she said frequently, that Yumiko and Yuuta had never inherited her eyes. It was only through his biology classes, where Syuusuke had discovered how rare it had been, that his eyes were blue at birth, and stayed that way. Yuuta had only muttered sullenly, that it was suitably fitting how the only genius in their family, got boththe brains and the looks.

He had skipped school that day again.

There was only a strange of detachment left. There was no longer any sadness, any fear or thoughts that today would be the day that his mind would break and he would kill himself. He would have to be strong for Yuuta. He had nearly ran into the rain the day before, the urge to flee from everyone and everything he knew overwhelming his senses, the taste of freedom lingering in his mouth.

_But Yuuta doesn't even want you. He doesn't even need you around._

Even so, no matter how much Yuuta despised him, he would still want to protect his younger brother. In death, he would be unable to. Yumiko was busy and their father…somehow, each time he looked at him, he felt a strange sense of shame that the once industrious man was reduced to this hollow shell. He was a working man who provided for the family, seemingly happy and hardworking, yet he broke into the most heartrending sobs in the middle of the night, drunk and unhappy when he thought that no one was awake to hear him cry.

But that was alright, because he didn't feel like going crazy and slamming his fists against the walls until he saw blood, anymore. The sounds used to reverberate in his head, driving him mad with their quiet intensity. Nowadays, he didn't need to sleep anymore, and all that was left, was a distant peace and numbness.

He thought that maybe it was a sign that he was getting better.

Raising his camera, he took a few more pictures.

-

"This is her. Don't you see?" Fuji pleaded quietly for the last time.

Tezuka felt like crying.

-

He remembered Ryuuzaki-sensei's frustration that one of their star players was refusing to come to school, as he appeared to be "too sure of his place in the school team". He remembered his sudden impulse to punch the witch in the jaw. No one at school seemed to understand, and the school counsellors were at a loss to explain the sudden decline of the genius the school had once been so proud of. No one wanted to involve themselves in the mud that Fuji Syuusuke's name had been dragged through. Their team was concerned, and yet unwittingly condescending at the same time. He listened to Oishi's unspoken worry that their school placing would fall, he heard Eiji's sullen silence, he understood Inui's inquisitive nature as he subtly attempted to probe Tezuka for more information, he heard all of their worry and his only realisation was that no one had really seen the extent to which Fuji was capable of breaking down. No one really feared that the tensai was never coming back again.

Model student, school captain, all the titles meant nothing to him as he, Tezuka Kunimitsu, skipped school for the first time in his life.

He hadn't explained anything to his grandparents, but had left a note to state that he would not be home for dinner that day. He didn't say anything either when he turned up unexpectedly to accompany Fuji on his search. Fuji had never requested anything from him, but he sensed that at this crucial moment, his friend needed familiar company more than anything else. Somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that something wrong was going to happen whether or not he was there.

So they sat down and waited.

Fuji's unnatural calm and silence was really beginning to worry him.

It got to the point where he found himself babbling nonsense, just to break the silence, whereupon Fuji smiled slightly and nodded or responded politely to whatever he was saying. His mind seemed fully intent on looking for the same woman that he had seen twice in the vicinity already.

"Let's go."

Fuji's spoke at last, tense and excited at the same time, as he stood to leave, his eyes never leaving a figure hurrying away rapidly, wearing the same worn brown coat captured in his photograph.

* * *

They had followed her from one winding street to another, and it had started to rain very slightly. It didn't impede their progress. They didn't even have to hide from view, as the woman ahead began to walk a little more hurriedly, seemingly preoccupied with the overcast skies ahead. It was so cold, and Tezuka realised that it was only him that felt the chill in the air, his breath emerging in misty gasps, the fear sinking so deeply into his bones unlike anything that he had ever felt before.

There were people around, the streets were bustling with activity as people prepared to duck back indoors before the real storm hit. Fuji Syuusuke, his lover and friend, single-mindedly obsessed with tracking his prey, seeming not to notice anything else but the figure ahead. Something just seemed so wrong in the whole scenario. He thought of the Mona Lisa all of a sudden. It was like a jigsaw lacking only a piece towards identifying it as the devil's portrait, it was as though the smile had been leading you to hell all along. He couldn't place his finger on it, but he was so terrified and so miserable at the same time, he wanted to tell Fuji everything he felt and beg him to turn back, pleading with him to return to school, where it was a familiar place at least.

But Tezuka also knew that Fuji would fade away if no answers surfaced. If there was no longer any reason for him to persevere, his self-destructive tendencies would intensify into a muted violence. He didn't want to be the one to watch Fuji die. Tezuka wanted to say so much, for the first time in his life, and he couldn't speak a word around the lump that rose in his throat. In place of words, he ran with Fuji, grabbing his hand and running across the road with him, where the red traffic lights had impeded their progress, and continued to close the distance between them and their quarry.

They reached their destination before they knew it. It seemed like such a normal home. It was in a quieter part of town, and the gates had broken padlocks that hung limply over the metal bars. Apart from the slightly run-down condition of the house, it was not ominously threatening and even had a small garden planted at the front porch. It had 2 storeys to it, and the pair stood outside, and let their eyes roam over the dark red brick tiles, and the shades that lined every window.

"Do we…" Tezuka broke off, gesturing at the half-opened door.

Fuji said nothing and walked forwards tentatively. It was only on close inspection, that Tezuka realised that the other boy's teeth were gritted so tightly in order to prevent his teeth from chattering, but his hands were still clenched violently by his sides. He didn't know the strange compulsion that led them to chase insanely after a woman, when they had never actually seen her face.

He walked ahead of Fuji, pushing open the door cautiously, and stepping back to let the other enter. Fuji looked almost sick with fear and expectation, and his skin had gone so incredibly white that Tezuka was shocked. Placing his hand at his back, they stood for a moment at the entrance, surveying the unkempt surroundings before them. Newspapers were flung around the place, pieces hanging off the wall where they appeared to have been tacked. The wind blew in from the opened balcony directly in front of them, making pieces of paper rustle and scatter loosely in the breeze. The floors were dusty, the windows were shuttered, and a distant clock ticked the seconds away, echoing unnaturally loudly throughout the house.

There was no sign of the woman that they had followed to this house.

There were no sounds of anyone else in the house. They remained so still that it would have been impossible to avoid hearing the sounds of another human being in the same house. Outside the sky reflected a gloomy yellow-grey and the rain continued to pelt down relentlessly. Fuji glanced at the dusty staircase that went up to the second level of the small house, and decided to ignore it for the moment. Cautiously glancing around, he made his way over to the newspapers tacked clumsily onto the walls.

And realised that every single article, every picture, was of him.

Every success and failure he accumulated and duly reported in the sporting news, had been pasted onto the walls. Numerous photographs of him turning around, of him eating in a café, of the sunlight that caught in his eyes as he waited for the traffic lights to change; all the pictures were intimate, as though the photographer had known him personally. He reached out, his hands shaking, to trace the newspaper clippings with delicate fingers, as though worried that this too, was a figment of his overactive imagination. He was more stunned, than afraid, at the sheer magnitude of clippings and articles and photographs.

Then, abruptly, the fear set in with a surety so blunt that he forgot to breathe.

Turning, he saw a figure straightening from under the staircase, mere seconds away from where Tezuka's back. In 2 strides, he was standing behind the captain, his arm poised, an object in hand, silent as Fuji as he choked and tried to remember how to form the words in his mouth, silent still, when he swung his arm down and the most sickening crack of bone breaking resounded.

Blood trickled down his amazed expression, his eyes turning bloody, but open still, with the singular desire to protect and serve his lover. He tried to breathe but it felt as though his lungs could no longer function. The last thing he saw, was Fuji collapsing onto the floor, almost catatonic with fear as he hugged his legs to himself.

"Syuusuke…"

Torn wail after wail shredding themselves away from Fuji's throat, broken and unbearably grieved as he gasped and breathed for air at last, anguished sobs that emerged from his ravaged throat. A high keening replaced the harsh shrieks that he made, a continuous whine of fear and despair as he backed further away, his eyes wide and unseeing as the man came closer to him with every step.

They were in the middle of a busy street and near a crowded marketplace, but they were going to be murdered like animals and no one would come for them.

"Do you know me?"

Fuji shook his head dumbly, violently. But a part of him did recognise the man. The answers were in his fair hair and his aquamarine eyes that stared back at him. Fuji couldn't take his eyes away from that face, that familiar, beautiful face with its translucent blue, blue eyes. He had seen that face in his dreams, and he was choking, his nails carving bloody crescents into his face, desperately clawing as though he could force the thoughts in his mind.

* * *

He had been sitting in his bedroom. Outside, the lightning flashed and rain continued to pound down relentlessly. The downpour was never ending, but it was pretty and he liked the smell of the rain and the grass that came in from the windows that were left open by a small crack. His father would be late home that day, away on one of his business trips. Yuuta was away at a junior tennis enrichment camp, whilst Yumiko was staying at the university campus. He was alone with his mother in the house, and it was dark in his room, but that was alright. His mother was cooking dinner, and he rather liked the quiet when there was nobody around to interfere.

The top he was playing with spun through the air, making a series of jumps and unnatural bounces. He liked its friendly yellow and white colour and the way it leapt gracefully through the air and landed spinning on the ground. A series of knocks sounded, before his mother entered the room, flicking on the lights as she did so.

She was indifferent to all the tricks and skills he had mastered; and even as she began to place the neatly folded stacks of clothing into his drawers, he was performing in hopes of a word of praise or admiration from her.

Then he heard it. The familiar sound of the door opening downstairs.

"Ne…okaasan…I think someone's home."

"Your father is away on business, as you already know. And neither of your siblings will be home for the next week. Do stop making up stories."

"But I heard it. The door opened!"

"It was only the wind…"

Their voices trailed off when they heard a strange sound in the hall below. Fuji had never seen his mother look like that before, something akin to suspicion and a weary resignation seeming to settle heavily over her features. There was something wrong that she wasn't telling him about. He was about to protest when she pushed him gently towards the walk-in wardrobe that he owned.

"Go in, Syuusuke. Okaasan will let you out soon."

"Why?"

"Be a good boy. Do as I say. Go."

Confused and more than a little scared, he obediently went into his closet and closed the door behind him. Something prompted him not to turn on the wardrobe light, which could show through from the gaps left between the slats. He sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, peeking through the holes, and waited with bated breath while his mother switched off the lights and went outside the room.

Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and pretty soon it felt like an eternity where he was trapped in darkness. He couldn't see anything in the pitch black room, only catching momentary flashes when thunder roared and the lightning illuminated the room briefly. He could smell the clean scent of his laundry, and the dry musty scent of the wooden interior, and his scalp was crawling with the sudden notion that there may be another presence behind him. It was so dark and he couldn't even see his hands and he was so scared suddenly, half daring himself to turn behind, half desperately trying to shy away from the hidden terrors that his imagination seized upon.

"I want to go out…" he whispered to himself, wringing his clammy hands nervously.

Then abruptly, footsteps sounded. He could hear them coming up slowly, approaching the room, and suddenly he didn't want to leave the closet any longer. It was excruciating keeping himself quiet as he heard raised voices coming up the staircase. He could hear his mother, and she sounded as though she was trying to keep her voice calm. Only that it sounded so forced, and Fuji had a sudden realisation that she could have been just as scared as he was. It was so dark…everything was so dark… He whimpered and clamped his hands around his mouth in the next moment.

"Syuusuke…here…there is only me…"

A harsh slap echoed through the room, and he heard his mother gasp. He could hear them arguing now, in the room and she now sounded openly terrified, the other voice mocking her, repeating her words as strange sounds rustled from outside, sounds of zippers and cloth tearing. And then the fighting subsided, and somehow that scared him more than anything else.

He strained his ears and caught some of the murmured phrases, and thought that he heard her say, "not here…not…the boy's room..."

_He was looking for me._

Fuji put his eyes as close he could to the shutter, trying to see what was going on and who the intruder was. He didn't recognise his voice and from the unnatural heaviness of his steps, it reminded him of the times when father got drunk and his gait became unsteady and ponderous. Thunder boomed so unexpectedly that he let out a startled squeak. He thought the sound hadn't been noticed, yet in the next flash of light that flooded the room, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the tall man stand upright, and look towards the closet.

His hair was of a brown so light that it was nearly blonde, and his eyes…Fuji tried to tell himself that he was dreaming, but his eyes were startlingly blue, alike to his mother's. His eyes were hungry and devoid of sanity in the split second where they had flashed towards where Fuji was hiding. He huddled closer to himself, and prayed the darkness was enough to conceal him, pressing his hands against his mouth so tightly that his fingers had gone numb.

He couldn't see a thing but the footsteps were approaching his direction.

Fuji was so frightened that he wanted to cry, and he groped blindly around him but found no weapon that he could use, only soft sheets that slipped through his fingers. He tried to forget the sight of his mother huddled in the bed, helpless as she watched the other man stand and turn towards him. He couldn't hear a sound from her, and a part of him was angry that she could not find the heart to protect him. His mother had left him alone. Why?

"I'm coming for you, my little one…"

_Someone…please, someone, anyone…help me. I'm so scared…_

He started crying a little, small gasping sobs as he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that he couldn't hear the footsteps, couldn't hear the taunting as the other man laughed. The footsteps went away, and a brief spark of hope flared up in Fuji abruptly.

The doors were thrown open as lightning flashed, and Fuji screamed.

* * *

"She abandoned you, didn't she? My silly girl was always doing things like that."

The man asked him gently, his fingers reaching down to caress the side of his face.

"I met your mother at a company lunch one day, did you know that? I didn't understand why someone as smart and as beautiful as her, was knocking back the drinks at the bar alone. Turns out your parents weren't all that fond of each other in the past; fought a lot, argued a lot and it was easier to turn to a distraction like me."

"I did love her though. She was, after all, very beautiful. Our affair went on secretly, but when she discovered that she was pregnant with you, things came to an abrupt end. You see, I'm not the heartless kind of man that would simply abandon the woman and run for it. I _loved _the idea of having my own family with her, but she wouldn't hear anything of it. I even had to track her down again, after she callously moved house without letting me know."

Fuji's fingers were buried in his hair, trying to stop himself from breaking into tears and losing his mind completely. The memories were flooding his mind, memories that he had always thought that he had lost forever. There was nothing pleasant, and as soon as he remembered each horrific scene, it was as though a part of him had changed, becoming engorged on the past hurts until he became a new person altogether. He was the same person but what made "him" had changed dramatically. He wasn't making any sense even to himself, his fingers tangling into his hair as he rocked himself to and fro, subconsciously attempting to calm himself down.

Abruptly, he caught sight of the matted, blood soaked hair of the tennis captain that lay across the floor from him, and his mind blacked out again.

* * *

"_My, look at you! I would never have guessed that you were hiding in the closet!" The man stooped lower, bending to look at the boy who backed into the corner, his eyes squeezed shut._

"_What's your name?"_

_He couldn't breathe properly. Little coloured spots were dancing in his vision and he was steadily choking himself to death, and the man repeated his question. Repeated it over and over again until it rang in his ears and the tears ran down his cheeks, and his mother…merely watched quietly._

"_Yuuta!" he screamed at last. "My name is Fuji Yuuta."_

* * *

He had run away. Fuji breathed in horror, remembering at last. His mother's expression was inscrutable as she gazed at him after that lie. He wasn't sure if saying what he did, had endangered his sibling. But it was his life that was at stake here! Didn't she care? Why didn't she say anything?

"All I wanted was you. She could have continued leading her blissful life, as long as she gave me custody over my own child. No one in that family understands your genius, no one!"

The words were washing over him. He suddenly felt very tired, and the gears in his mind were running without rest, rushed towards an inevitable conclusion.

"Did you know? Did you know that I was lying then?" he asked abruptly.

"She was the one who led me to you. She sent me your pictures from time to time. How else do you think I even have pictures of you, _at home_, pasted on my wall up there?"

Fuji thought that his heart might be breaking.

"There is no one that cares about you, except for me. You do know that, don't you?

* * *

He thought about the way she had smiled, and the fondness which he had recalled those memories. Only now did he remember that there had been Yuuta who was standing with him. There had been someone that they both doted upon, and he recalled feeling jealous and simultaneously protective over his baby bother.

He thought about the way he had tried hard to excel in both school and tennis, until he had realised that extraordinary progress would only be put down to his "gift" but never to his effort. Amazing feats were only to be expected of the family genius, and where he was normal, or had more plebeian tastes like other children, people didn't seem to understand why. It was as though a genius had to be even more abnormal than what he was born as, in order for people to notice him. More attention was always lavished on his elder sister, or the younger brother, and everyone didn't seem to realise that as self-sufficient as he was, he needed people to love and pay attention to him at the same time.

He thought about the way she had screamed when his real father had tried to take him away, he thought about how much of her anguish was real. He thought about the way the man had fled and he had gone after him, but tripping over the same top that he had been playing with, and crashing onto the bed.

He thought about the exact hue of her eyes, as she lay dying.

He thought about the people who cared for him, he thought about the way his family had broken apart, he thought about his family that became perfect strangers, he thought about the nameless faces of people whom he had slept with, who vocalised their love for him and made him feel even more empty when they all left, come morning. He thought about Kaito whom he had loved, and how he had learnt from him that pain cleansed the soul and left it clean. He thought about how ironic that notion was, because when things came full circle, he was left feeling as unclean and sinful as ever. He thought about how Kaito had died, and the letters that he had thrown away by himself, then dug up again and replaced carefully in his own cupboard. He thought about his split personality and the entire incident that he erased carefully from his memory. He thought about his classmates who had isolated him, and the teacher whom he had placed his trust in. He thought about his best friend who broke his heart and became his worst enemy.

He thought about Tezuka who loved him more than he had expected, he thought about the way he had always tried to be there for him. He thought about all the things that Tezuka had done and how he had always fought to make Fuji happy, even whilst he deliberately hurt him and made him sad. He thought about how Tezuka's long fingers had wrapped around his throat, he thought about the massive amount of pain that he had become addicted to, and he thought about his grief in realising that it was never enough to erase his identity.

He thought about how there was no one left in the world for him. He thought that the unbearable loneliness might kill him. He thought of the beautiful captain and saw the blood that was beginning to reach his shoes, pooling slowly from the wound in Tezuka's head.

He thought that there could always be others to fill his place.

Somehow he stopped thinking anymore.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: This is the last chapter, with only a short epilogue to go. Tell me if you liked it.


	14. Epilogue

"Decided to switch schools now that Seigaku's doomed for the Nationals?"

"Well? Have you gone dumb…? Or maybe you're just a very special kind of stupid?" Mukahi Gakuto asked resentfully. His partner lingered in the background, the slightest crease easing between his eyebrows as he waited for the inevitable explosion that would occur when the two headstrong competitors faced off.

It was a glorious day out. There had never been a more perfect day, with the sunlight pleasantly warm at the back of his neck and the wind frigid enough to indicate the start of winter. He watched a few Hyotei students walk past silently, as the last day of school came to an end. In the past 10 minutes, he had already counted 15 luxury cars that had wound smoothly out of the school gates.

His eyes were bloodshot.

"Ne…Mukahi-kun…can you tell me why you hate me?"

There were times when he couldn't tell if he was more enraged with the Seigaku acrobat for daring to challenge his superior skill and flexibility, or it was the clueless manner in which Kikumaru approached him despite the obvious antagonism he displayed. However, at present, he was facing a Kikumaru who was somewhat distracted, leaving him with little but a shell to grapple with. He missed the old times somehow.

"Uh?"

The words spilt from his lips unwillingly.

"Huh? Er…well…right, you're a loud-mouthed obnoxious idiot who thinks his Golden Pair is the best in the world when it's so obvious that we're better. Your hair is annoying, your bandage is pretentious, your endless cheeriness gets on my nerves and…no, stop it, don't cry!!"

"Look, I know I said all that, but we're opponents on court, and I guess I don't really see you as my deadly enemy you know?"

Eiji began laughing softly, a quiet choking sound that sounded as though he couldn't tell whether he should scream or cry. The two of them watched in stunned silence, as Eiji sank slowly against the wall. His slender shoulders were trembling as he continued crying silently, staring down at his open hands.

He hated him. He _hated _him. He hated and hated and hated, and now that he was gone, he didn't quite know who to hate. He didn't even really understand why he hated him that much, and now there was only Mukahi who looked at him fearfully, as though he was about to draw out a knife and commit hara-kiri right in front of them.

The tears were slipping through the gaps in his fingers.

Haruka had been strange even when he first got to know her. His suspicions had been piqued by the many questions that she asked and the information on Fuji Syuusuke that she seemed to thirst after, as though dying from a parched obsession to learn everything she could get her hands on. But it had been so easy to fall back into a strange sense of complacency and security, listening to her vows that she had only wanted to see the real face behind the perfect façade that her brother had seemed to date.

The night that he had taken the photo…somehow he had wanted to make believe then, that this was different, this was the life that they could have had. They could have been so happy together, and he would have helped his best friend through anything. No mere obstacle could have hindered them. No burden could have tainted their future. Fuji's eyelashes had been so long, a slender hand brushing against one soft cheek that he yearned to touch. He had looked so fragile and beautiful, almost angelic as he slept. He had merely wanted to save that moment. One minute preserved in the fine lines and muted colours on a single sheet, one emotion encased in a two dimensional matted gloss box.

Through his tears, Eiji remembered telling her that he and Fuji weren't even close friends. He had panicked when she caught sight of it, and had wound up lying, and then lying even more to cover the first ones. She hadn't said anything, only smiled at him, a strange knowing look that crossed her face when they crossed paths again one day. Even then, he had suspected that something was wrong. Yet, after his failed confession, bitter and uncaring, he gave it to her, with dark promises whispering in his heart. Like a child, he waited with bated breath to see how the story would turn out.

There were no happy endings. They weren't children anymore.

* * *

Tezuka's clothes were immaculate as always, the pressed lines in his pants clearly visible as he strode briskly past the freshly mowed lawn and towards the sanatorium.

He liked to throw on an ensemble of outfits that were smart but casual, as it made Fuji happy to see him in nice clothes. His eye for good taste and style hadn't diminished despite everything, and Tezuka liked knowing that the sweet smile was just for him, and his efforts had been appreciated.

The whole day, Tezuka had been unable to shake off the feeling of unease that plagued him, until he made up his mind to visit Fuji right after school ended. He had hoped that quitting the tennis team altogether, would leave him with more time to keep Fuji company, but there were still school duties and other administrative matters that remained. He looked forward to surprising Fuji, especially since he had been unable to visit him for the past couple of weeks.

"Ahhh, Tezuka-san! You're here again!"

The head nurse beamed at him as she took the large bouquet of lilies from his arms. It had become Tezuka's habit to bring something beautiful with every visit. He began by bringing a simple wind chime for him on his second visit, when he realised how starkly painful it was, to look at the empty white walls devoid of any personality.

Sometimes, he couldn't believe that everything had actually happened. He looked at the empty shell that housed Fuji's soul once upon a time and he couldn't imagine that the polite but emotionally absent youth had been one and the same person. He remembered the blurs in the photographs, and how they had chased after a stranger after catching a glimpse of the back of her coat that day. It was as though they had been chasing the same story, but somehow, somehow along the way they had been split up and now they couldn't find their way back.

Where did the line between dreams and reality blur?

Fuji's mind had broken down completely, and he didn't seem to recognise anyone or remember any portion of his past. Yet there were periods of lucidity where he seemed to regain control over himself. His mood swings were unpredictable, and the head nurse had informed Tezuka that there had been an isolated incident, where Fuji had thrown the entire vase of flowers against the door. The nurse on duty had rushed to the scene and witnessed the entire floor covered with porcelain shards and long stems of peonies and white roses. Fuji had been admitted into the hospital two months ago and the doctors had certified that he was far too weak physically, to be forced to undergo any strenuous form of exercise. Even so, all sharp objects were removed from his room, and no fragile items were left lying around.

* * *

They entered the lift together.

"How has Syuusuke been doing?" he asked quietly.

"Not bad at all! I think the previous sessions of therapy helped, he seems to be coming out of his shell more. He was rather polite and so eloquent, why I could barely tell that he was a patient here at our home!"

"Aa, that's wonderful. Thank you for your hard work and effort… "

"Not at all, Fuji-kun has the largest part to play in his recovery. It may not be my place to say this, but I know that you, probably more so than anyone, wish for Fuji-kun to recover fully and are doing your best to assist him……however, whether he eventually gets back his memories……"

"I understand. The doctors had informed me that in such cases of trauma, very frequently, the patients don't ever recover their memories, and lead new lives instead. Even if he no longer remembers me, I would accept it."

"Fuji-kun's very fortunate to have someone like you by his side…" she smiled uncertainly.

"Oh goodness, I forgot to tell you! He made such remarkable progress, and as a reward, we let him join the other patients at the rooftop garden, enjoying the good weather and scenery! If you hurry, I'm sure you'd be able to find him there."

The head nurse smiled at him reassuringly as she gathered the blossoms in her arms and stepped out of the lift.

* * *

It was the silence that he had noticed first.

A silent wave of sound that began ballooning wider, and expanding through the few patients and the nurses that remained on duty. A moment where people stopped breathing and the minutes seemed to tick by and still, nothing moved. Overhead, the warm orange skies were covered by the smooth, quick sliding of solid grey sand across the universe.

There was an emptiness yawning as great and dense as the sky that enveloped them all in its heartbreaking grip.

"Now, everybody…please don't panic, we have nurses on duty, nothing will go wrong...please proceed to the lift landings at the side…"

Something clicked in his mind then.

He turned and caught sight of the strangely familiar wheelchair, empty and deserted at the far edges of the roof.

Overhead, it began to snow quietly.

* * *

_There were no happy endings. The bells could strike at midnight but the fairytale ended long before then. Only the rats remained to devour; only shards of what the glass shoe used to be; only dust where people used to be, ground against the dark, damp pavements._

THE END


End file.
